


The Summer of '66

by DevilishlyVintage



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: 1960s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Detective Noir, Gen, Murder Mystery, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26322370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilishlyVintage/pseuds/DevilishlyVintage
Summary: ❝Dear Henry,It seems like a lifetime since we worked on cartoons together. 30 years really slips away, doesn't it?If you're back in town, come visit the old workshop. There's something I need to show you.Your best pal, Joey Drew.❞While visiting her great-uncle in Burbank, British detective Hazel Wainwright is suddenly thrown back into her work of mystery solving after a peculiar newspaper article sparks her interest. Curiosity succeeded in killing the cat, a curiosity that she perhaps should have had better control of. As she uncovers more and more of the horrors behind the strange disappearances of Joey Drew and his staff with the help of former cartoonist, Henry Munroe, will she end up finding the answers she has been searching for, or succumb to the insanity that is the Ink Machine?© me (concept idea, original characters and original interpretations of canon characters)© Joey Drew Studios/TheKindlyBeast (original concept idea and their characters)
Relationships: Henry Stein & Original Female Character(s), Joey Drew/Sammy Lawrence, Susie Campbell/Joey Drew, Susie Campbell/Sammy Lawrence
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	1. C'est La Vie/A Day at the Beach

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of The Summer of '66! This story has been something I have been working on for two years and has yet to be finished, although I'm working on it. I decided it was about time that I start posting my stories to other platforms, then that way more will have access to them.
> 
> The Summer of '66 contains adult themes that some readers may find upsetting. However, any chapters that contain such things will come with a trigger warning so that way you will be aware of what to expect. If you have any further questions regarding any of these then please don't hesitate to send me a private message, I will do my best to answer anything that you may wish to ask.
> 
> This chapter in particular pokes fun at 1960's film and TV stereotypes as seen in media during that time, although it has been done in a satirical manner and is not intended to cause offense.
> 
> Thank you, reader, for taking time out of your day to read this piece of work. I'm very grateful :)

**C'est La Vie**

_1) You can be beautiful/handsome no matter your age. Outer beauty never remains the same forever, but inner beauty can as long as you are willing to let it._

_2) Time waits for no one. The hands on a clock never stop ticking, not even for the kindest of people._

_3) A person's past does not define them. The past is the past. To dwell on it will not change anything, I am sorry to say._

_4) Sometimes scars are inflicted in other places rather than the flesh. Like the past, these do not sum up who you are as a person._

_5) As the years have gone by most have learned to accept or tolerate those who do not engage in heterosexual relationships. If you thought non-heterosexuals were a thing of the modern day, this story will be sure to prove you wrong._

_6) Ambition is an angel and a devil. It's what makes us want to do our best and succeed in our day to day lives. Though if you aren't careful enough, it can drag you down into undying darkness and never let you see the light of day again._

_7) Materialistic individuals often face their downfall first._

_8) Minds are fragile places. Please, treat them with care when they are damaged._

The tale you are about to read, dear members of Ao3, is one that I hope you get enjoyment out of. Though, it is also one I hope you learn a lesson or two from. If you wish to remain blind to the world's truths, turn back now. Wish to read on? Then allow me to open your eyes.

The author,

DevilishlyVintage.

***

_**Flynn Residence** _

_**Summer, 1966** _

The toasty summer sun shone through the glass, its light being split into two and specks of dust airily moved in the soft streaks of gold. Not a single cloud inhabited the stratosphere, which to the avid cloud spotter would be deemed a rather disappointing sight. Though from how things looked to Hazel, the day ahead was going to be a good one.

"Got any plans for today, Hal?" Shawn Flynn, her great-uncle, inquired as he read the daily newspaper, turning over to the next page. Hazel nodded, walking into the kitchen and opening the fridge.

"I'm going to the beach for a few hours," she replied, searching for anything she could prepare for a morning meal. "Would you like me to make you some breakfast before I go, Uncle Flynn? We still have some yoghurt and fruit left; preparing them will only take a minute."

"Ye go ahead and make yerself somethin', love," said Shawn, putting his paper to the side. "I'm not all that hungry. Thanks for offerin' though. I'm sure yer day will be lovely; it's perfect weather for it too."

Hazel smiled sweetly at Shawn, getting the needed ingredients and a disposable container, filling the Tupperware with yoghurt before laying a selection of berries on top, securing the lid just tight enough that she would be able to open it later. She retrieved a plastic spoon and placed it on top of the lid, holding the top and bottom of the container.

"Now are you sure you will be all right?" asked Hazel, putting her breakfast in her already packed beach bag. "Honestly, it's really no trouble for me to-"

"I'll be fine, Hally." insisted Shawn, using his cane to support himself. "Ye shouldn' be spending yer entire holiday worryin' about me. Go have fun."

Hazel gave Shawn a hug, to which the elderly man returned.

"Be safe, alright? Don't get yourself into too much trouble while I'm gone, all right? I love you."

"I love ye too, a _stóreen,_ " he said gently, placing a kiss on her forehead. "Now go on, have yerself a good day."

Hazel pulled away, putting her bag over her shoulder and heading for the front door. She grabbed the spare key that hung from a nail on the wall and made her way out, ready for her day at the beach.

***

**_The_ ** **_Beach_ **

It was the perfect time to relax and hang out at the beach. Teenagers played volleyball and surfed; some swam in the crystal clear oceans while others attempted to impress the popular boys and girls. Hazel observed from her deckchair, putting on a pair of sunglasses.

_Teenagers,_ she thought with a roll of her eyes and a sigh, shaking a bottle of sunscreen and applying it to her arms, legs and shoulders. Relaxing, Hazel took out a book from her bag and opened it, holding the bookmark behind the hardback and finding where she had previously left off.

_The Castle of Llyr,_ she recalled the title as she read the literature. _By Lloyd Alexander._ _The third volume in The Chronicles of Prydain. An entertaining read, to say the least._

Hazel became immersed in a fictional world of medieval times. The tales of the brave Taran and his companion, the beautiful Princess Eilonwy, never failed to catch the keen reader in their web and make her yearn to read on. Although the Chronicles of Prydain were aimed primarily towards children, the holiday-maker was never shy to admit that she was a kid at heart.

Lost to her imagination, Hazel didn't notice the incoming volleyball that was about to hit her. With some force, the ball came into contact with her face, causing her to cry out.

"Ow! Bloody Hell!" she cursed, her nose and the rest of her face numb from the impact. Three youths, each with hair of varying shades of blond, rushed over to retrieve their ball and make sure the victim of the volleyball's attack was all right.

"Sorry about that, dudette. Didn't think the ball was gonna go that far." one of the adolescents apologised, picking up the yellow and blue sphere.

"That's alright." Hazel accepted the apology, bringing her legs to the side of her chair. "Don't worry about it. Accidents happen."

"You're not hurt or anything, are you?" enquired another, housing a guilty expression. "You want us to get you some ice? We got plenty back-"

"No, no." Hazel waved off in decline, standing. "I'll be all right. Thank you though. It was probably a good thing that ball hit me too, I was getting far too immersed in that book of mine. Plenty of things to see and do, not enough hours in a day to do them all."

Wrapping a green sarong around her waist, she tapped her sandals together to get sand out of them and slipped them onto her feet, folding up her towel and depositing it in her bag.

"Toodle-oo, chaps." Hazel bade the fair-haired males farewell. "Have fun playing your game."

As she departed, the teenagers wolf-whistled after the assumed young female, left completely unaware of her true age. Strolling up a few steps, Hazel arrived at the beach's boardwalk, a giant wooden foundation famous for its varying stalls and other popular attractions. Touching the bridge of her nose with the tips of her fingers, the Briton exhaled and set out for a drink. Now that she thought about it, maybe she should have accepted the offer of ice after all.

**_Flanagan's Gifts & Convenience_ **

_Late to work for the third time this week. At least you've got a good reason this time, but keep this up and Mrs Flanagan is sure to lose faith in you- that's if, she hasn't already._

Henry glanced at his wristwatch and then focused back on the path ahead of him, quickly dashing for the front door of his place of work, closing it behind him and grabbing his work apron from the coat hanger.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, Mrs Flanagan." apologised Henry over and over, tying the back of the pocketed garment. "I promise it won't happen again."

The promise was mostly an empty one, regardless of how many times he repeated the same sentence again and again; Henry hardly had the ability to keep to his word. Perhaps it was why he had stopped making promises long ago.

"Mrs Flanagan?" Henry called his employer's name, finding it unusual that she hadn't responded to him arriving late. "Is everything alright? Mrs Flanagan?"

From the main counter game a thump and a startled 'oh'. Amelia Flanagan, the owner of Flanagan's Gifts & Convenience emerged from underneath, holding a bottle of bug repellent.

"Ah, Henry! I didn't see you there, dear." said the woman, speaking in a soft Scottish accent. "I was just sprayin' some repellent. Doaty little insects never seem to leave my little shop alone. How are ya? Doing well I hope."

"I've had better days," Henry answered honestly, smiling weakly. "Though other than feeling guilty for being late again, I'd say things are pretty good. How about you, Mrs Flanagan?"

Mrs Flanagan sighed, dusting off her apron. "As much as I would love it if you weren't late for your shifts, lateness is a thing of life. You can do all ya can to get better at not being it, but you cannae stop it entirely. Like you, Henry, I've seen better days. If these wee bugs weren't terrorisin' me like they always do, I would be much happier. Though, beggars cannae be choosers now, can they?"

"Definitely not. You get what you give as my dad always said." mused Henry, then rendering himself silent. Mrs Flanagan studied Henry's body language, a gasp parting her lips when she remembered what day it was today.

"Oh nae, I completely forgot," said Mrs Flanagan, her heartstrings beginning to ache. "It's your dad's anniversary today. I usually give you the mornin' off so you can go and pay your respects. I'm so sorry, Henry."

"It's okay," reassured Henry, he was used to mourning his father alone at this point. "You don't have to apologise. It's just when I remember things he used to say, it brings back memories, y'know? Makes me miss him that much more."

"I understand, lovely." nodded Mrs Flanagan, able to relate to the pain of losing someone you loved. "Do you need a minute alone?"

"No, no, I'll be fine," Henry assured, taking a moment to compose himself. His dad was dead and it had been that way for years, he felt like he should have accepted it but even now the sadness never went away. "Thanks for being so understanding, Mrs Flanagan, I really appreciate it."

"You may be my employee, Henry, but I promised your dad that I would be here for you if you needed me. I hope you know that I care, and if you ever want to talk about anything that's on your mind, anything at all, then I'm here to listen."

"Thanks, Mrs Flanagan." Henry gave a single nod as his reply, getting behind the counter. After seeing the same thing happen time after time, Henry waited patiently for a customer to walk through the door and begin browsing, tapping his fingernails against the surface in time with the beat that played in his head, his chin resting on his knuckles.

Working for Mrs Flanagan wasn't bad, not by a long shot. While the pay wasn't anything incredibly remarkable, it was enough to help him pay the rent on his apartment each month and put decent food on the table. It did sadden him at times, however, when he thought about the man he used to be before his world was turned upside down.

Disposing of her Tupperware and spoon, Hazel brushed off her hands on the side of her sarong and stopped outside the stall nearest to her. The numbness in her face had ceased, full feeling returning to it, redness and irritation the only evidence that the ball had hit her. Looking upwards, she read the hand-painted sign that was coloured in red.

_Flanagan's Gifts and Convenience. Hopefully, the drinks here won't be too expensive, unlike those other places that were clearly trying to rip me off._

Going inside, the jingles of silver bells alerted Henry that a customer had arrived. He reverted from his slouched posture, not wanting to be seen as lazy or simply outright rude. The person in question was a woman of around five feet, wearing traditional feminine beachwear of a black bikini and pollen coloured floral print sarong. Her hair was a dark ginger, reaching just below her shoulder blades. She possessed quite a dainty stature for an adult, causing her to come across as a girl of youth. Her eyes held an ivory sheen, bringing out her pale features.

Henry's breath caught in the back of his throat when the mystery woman's face came into full view, a faint hue of pink forming on his cheeks. He snapped himself out of it when he saw she was struggling to reach for what looked like a Doctor Pepper can. Not wanting her to hurt herself, he went and assisted her.

"Here, let me help you with that." he reached for the fizzy drink and handed it to her. "This is the one you wanted, right?"

Hazel nodded, the act of kindness making her smile.

_What a gentleman._

"Yes, thank you." Hazel thanked, holding the metal can. "Ah, the struggles of being short. More annoying than an inconvenience, if I'm honest."

Her accent only bettered this woman's appeal; it was so smooth and sultry with a hint of elegance and sophistication. Voices like hers were only heard in films or television advertisements.

"I can imagine," said Henry, shutting the fridge door. "Can I help you with anything else?"

"No, no, I do not wish to trouble you any further. I'll be all right."

"No problem. Happy to help."

A minute or two later, Hazel went to the counter with the Doctor Pepper, a bag of Fritos and a packet of cigarettes. Henry cashed up the products and Hazel handed him the right amount of money, the employee packing them all in a bag along with the receipt.

"Thanks again, you have a good day now," Hazel said goodbye, leaving Flanagan's Gifts & Convenience. Watching her go, Henry couldn't help but notice that Hazel was toned from the back, well developed to put it in other words.

"That lass seemed nice." Mrs Flanagan remarked, a hand on her hip. "Doesn't seem like she's from around these parts."

Unaware that she had watched the scene unfold, the shopkeeper took the man by surprise.

"M-Mrs Flanagan!" stuttered Henry, his hand on his heart. "How long have you been there?"

"Enough to notice that you were looking somewhere you shouldn't have been." teased Mrs Flanagan.

Henry swiftly returned to his usual demeanour. "I'm not that type of man, Mrs Flanagan. That sort of behaviour is inappropriate; I'd never do something so unbecoming."

_Just like his dad,_ Mrs Flanagan lamented in a subdued manner. It was true that Amelia Flanagan had come to term with Henry's father's death moons ago, though that didn't make the agony of losing him easier on her conscience. Henry was all she had left of her friend, and even in her old age, she was faithful to the commitment she had made to him.

"I need to head out for a bit," claimed Mrs Flanagan, taking off her apron. "I trust ya can manage things here, Henry?"

"Of course." nodded Henry with a smile. "See you later, Mrs Flanagan."

"See you after, dearie."


	2. The Newspaper Clipping

**_The Boardwalk_ **

The breeze was the perfect balance for those finding the heavy humidity too intense, though Hazel hadn't paid much attention to the air's changes as she sat in the shade. Sipping on her Doctor Pepper and nibbling at the bag of Fritos, she read the newspaper in irritation.

"Wars and violence," she said to herself, grabbing a potato chip and taking a bite from it, the flavoured corn snack snapping in half. "It's all a load of codswallop..."There are no winners when it comes to fighting for your country. Men on both ally and enemy sides end up dying or killing themselves, and the governments don't seem to care. Makes you realise how far they have their heads shoved up their arses. A bunch of fools, the lot of them." 

Hazel skimmed through most of the articles only to stumble on one that drew her in. It had a bold title at the top reading 'Anniversary of the J.D.S Disappearances'

_The J.D.S Disappearances? This should be interesting._

**_'Today marks the 30th anniversary of the Joey Drew Studio Disappearances. It was on this day that the founder of animation Company, Joey Drew Studios, Joseph Andrews (Joey Drew) and many of his employees mysteriously disappeared. It isn't clear what happened to them and most of the conspiracy theories relating to the incident have been dismissed over the years, though one theory that many believe is that Mister Drew and other members of staff were involved in sinister affairs, resulting in them vanishing. The L.B.P.D is considering re-opening their former investigation, though whether or not action is going to be taken is currently unknown at this time.'_ **

_Joseph Andrews? Yes, I do believe I've heard that name before. I recall Uncle Flynn telling me stories of his former workplace in his letters. Perhaps if I can get an answer, this could be something I could look into. Though, I am on holiday and the police are already considering re-opening their investigation...and Uncle Flynn may not wish to discuss the past...Should I really be doing this?_

She shook her head, carefully tearing the paper and folding it up. Her inquisitive nature had kicked in and once again, it was time to use her title of Detective Wainwright to solve a case. She stood, rushing to get back to Shawn's home.

_The quicker I gather more information, the quicker I can start my investigation. Sorry rest and relaxation but, if you were anything like me, then you would know my curious mind never ceases to_ _operate._

Caught in her thoughts, Hazel didn't focus on where she was going and found herself bumping into someone, the other person catching her before she could fall onto the boardwalk floor, the red head's bag and belongings falling out.

"Oh, my," came a feminine voice laced with concern. "Are you all right, dear?"

Hazel got her bearings, seeing that a well attired woman of senior age had her hands on her shoulders. She waited for her dizziness to subside before speaking.

"Y-yes, I'm fine. I'm so sorry, ma'am, I should have been paying attention to where I was going. Thank you."

Hazel went to pick up her things, the finely dressed lady offering her assistance despite her ageing figure. 

"Allow me." she gathered some of the items, spotting the news paper clipping. Her heart stopped and her hand slowly trembled, her body fighting back a flood of tears. She forced the sadness down, resuming her kindly facade when Hazel looked back up.

"Joey Drew Studios, my God." her tone was a heart ached whisper. "It's been so long."

Hazel took this as an opportunity to try and get some information. Was it possible this lady had a connection to the studio? Perhaps through a relative or some other way?

"I don't mean to pry, but-"

"Lawrence." introduced the woman, her tone of voice changing from polite to slightly serious. "My name is Phyllis Lawrence. If it's information you are looking for, I may be able to help. Please, follow me."

Acting on her want for information, Hazel followed Ms Lawrence to somewhere they could discuss the matter further. An anxious knot grew in her stomach, though she brushed it off, focusing on her task.

***  
The swishes and swashes of the tide washing in and out combined with the squawks of seagulls, the light air carrying the odour of sea salt all around the atmosphere. Ms Lawrence focused lovingly on the photograph in her hands; the picture depicted a young fellow embracing who Hazel assumed was a younger Ms Lawrence, the two dressed in what Hazel estimated to be attire of the 1930's.

"Is that you and your nephew?" she wondered, eyeing the photo. "You both had a good relationship, I presume?"  
  
Ms Lawrence nodded in soft happiness, a hint of sadness along with it as she turned her focus to the person standing by her. "As you get older, your memory becomes more of an enemy than a friend. Though one thing it cannot take from you is what you felt during a specific moment and the emotions you feel currently. This photograph, along with memories, is all I have left of my dear Sammy. I'd do anything to see him again."  
  
She sighed sadly, to which Hazel frowned and hesitantly put a hand on her shoulder in an act of comfort. Ms Lawrence reciprocated a grateful smile at the action.  
  
"I understand this is difficult for you, Ms Lawrence." she said sympathetically. "I can't speak from personal experience of having a loved one go missing for a long period of time, though I do know how you feel in regards to having an array of emotions all at once. I swear, I will do all that I can to find out what caused your nephew's disappearance."

"Thank you." she heard Ms Lawrence say. "I'll forever be grateful that you took the time to listen to me. The fact that you are willing to help someone you don't even know just proves to me that there are still some good souls in this world."  
  
"I would consider good an overstatement, Ms Lawrence," spoke Hazel, hiding that she was lamenting. "Though I appreciate your kind words nevertheless. If I may, I would like to ask you some more questions regarding Mr Lawrence."  
  
Ms Lawrence complied, desperate to get answers. "Of course. What do you wish to know?"  
  
"What did your nephew do at the studio? What was his line of work?"  
  
"Oh that one is easy to answer," there was a glimmer of pride in Ms Lawrence's eyes. "He was a music director. He was responsible for writing a lot of the songs that were featured in the studio's short features. Music played a big part in his life; it was something he was always passionate about."  
  
"I see." Hazel replied, keeping a note of what she had been told. "From what you just told me, it seems as though Mr Lawrence came from a primarily musical background. Forgive me if that is incorrect."  
  
Ms Lawrence tittered. "You're very good, Miss. Very good indeed. Yes, music does runs in our family. His parents and I were all musicians and singers; it didn't surprise us when Sammy started taking an interest at a young age. If anything, we were delighted that he was following in our footsteps."  
  
_A child prodigy? Well, it would certainly explain why Ms Lawrence speaks so highly of him; I would as well if I had a virtuoso for a nephew. Pay attention to everything you are told, Hazel. Don't let a single detail slide._  
  
"I can imagine. Tell me Ms Lawrence and my apologies if this comes across as rude but, was there ever a point where you noticed changes in Mr Lawrence?"  
  
"Changes?" reciprocated Ms Lawrence; part of her seemed taken aback by the question. "Sammy was a well-raised and hard working man who never took his talents for granted, though now that you mention it I did spot something out of the ordinary, especially for someone who was family oriented. He became...secretive."  
  
The mention of the word caused Hazel's brow to rise. "Secretive?"  
  
"Yes. He started to distance himself from me and his parents, stopped visiting and attending family meals. Those were some of the things he loved doing, he never turned down the opportunity of spending time with us during the early days he worked for Joey Drew. The man that disappeared, the little boy I witnessed take his first steps and someone who I loved more than my own career...it wasn't him. It wasn't my Sammy."  
  
Ms Lawrence broke down, holding the photograph to her chest. Hazel consoled her the best she could, putting her own feelings aside for the sake of her new client.  
  
"As I have said I am going to do all that I can. From previous investigations I have learned you can't assure good things to those you are trying to help nor can you truly guarantee you'll find the answers a person is seeking, but I'm going to do my best. That much I can promise."  
  
Ms Lawrence breathed, calming herself. "I'll never forget this, Detective. At least now I can rest knowing someone is trying to help. Before you go," she produced a folded piece of paper from her pocket, giving it to Hazel as well as the photograph of her and Sammy. "I would like you to take these for your investigation. If you find Sammy alive, then I want him to know that he was and always will be loved. Let him know that I never forgot about him, that his parents never forgot about him. They hoped until their last breathes that their son would come home and even though they're no longer here to speak for themselves, I have no doubt that they would be just as grateful as I am that you are doing this for us. For Sammy."

"You have my word." Hazel treated the evidence she had obtained with care and respect. "Thank you for talking with me. You've been so helpful and I'm sure what you have told me will aid me. Take care, Ms Lawrence."

"You as well, dear. I wish you the best of luck on your investigation. Goodbye."  
  
When Hazel was out of sight, Ms Lawrence covered her face with her hands and cried some more. Her heart was damaged, broken into pieces that soon shattered into tiny sharp shards.  
  
_We've come to ruin, my dear family. We're ruined._  
  
***  
  
_Flanagan's Gifts and Convenience_  
  
"Coming up now," the radio host announced with enthusiasm. "Ranking in at number one for its second week in The Billboard Hot 100, Wild Thing by The Troggs!"  
  
**_"Wild thing, you make my heart sing_**  
 ** _You make everything groovy, wild thing_**  
 ** _Wild thing, I think I love you_**  
 ** _But I wanna know for sure_**  
 ** _Come on and hold me tight_**  
 ** _I love you."_**  
  
Henry stacked shelf after shelf, repeating the same pattern of taking out cans of soup from largely packed boxes and standing them side by side. One of the shelves sloped a bit, the fifty four year old remembering his 'handy work' as he set down another tin.  
  
_My crappy attempt at fixing a shelf. Get the professionals to do it next time, Henry._  
  
"Working hard as always." commented Mrs Flanagan, walking through the door and carrying a box that was nearly as big as her. "Ah! Jesus Christ!"  
  
"Mrs Flanagan!"  
  
Henry stopped what he was doing and immediately went to help his boss, taking the large package from her. "If you needed this picked up, I would have done it. It wouldn't have been any trouble at all."  
  
Mrs Flanagan huffed, resting her hand on her hip. "Ya worry about me too much, Henry. I know I'm not gettin' any younger, but I'm not incapable of carryin' a box. It's only a few things, anyway."  
  
"A few?" Henry placed the cardboard down, letting his muscles relax. "Mrs Flanagan, this thing weighs a ton. What's in here anyway?"  
  
"Just a few bits and bobs I've been meanin' to restock." responded Mrs Flanagan, eyeing Henry's work. "Did you manage alright?"  
  
"I managed just fine." said Henry, taking a step back to get a better look at his work. "That oughta do it. The shelf's really bugging me though, I should probably call someone to see if it can be fixed some time soon. Can't have people getting the wrong idea about the store now, can we?"  
  
"No we cannot." agreed Mrs Flanagan, the bones in her back cracking from her age. "Aye, i'm really startin' to feel my age now. I should have considered my days of carrying heavy loads over a long time ago, but that's just me, I guess. Too stubborn for my own good."  
  
"You can say that again." teased Henry, soon realising what he had said. He scratched the back of his head. "Sorry."  
  
"Mhm." smirked Mrs Flanagan, patting her friend's shoulder. She laughed. "Aye, you're a funny man, Henry. When ya want to be."  
  
Henry chuckled, catching on to his boss's jesting. "And what's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"It means what I said, dearie." Mrs Flanagan got behind the counter, brushing her grey hair back. "With a trait like that, you're bound to find someone. I know it's been difficult for you to put your trust in a lass since...but maybe it's time you consider gettin' yourself back in the game, y'know? It wouldn't hurt to try."  
  
"I don't think so, Mrs Flanagan." Henry shook his head. "Not at my age. Thanks for the encouragement though."  
  
Truth be told, Henry Munroe was a lonely man and it had been that way for a while. Thirty years was a long time not to have been in some form of commitment, but in some respect he didn't mind it. He had his freedom and didn't have to worry about not being able to impress a woman with fancy dinners or dressing up smartly. It was nice, though at the same horrible. Why? Why hadn't his heart healed from it all?  
  
Maybe it was just as he had predicted. It was too late to make any sort of attempt at repairing what was broken. Saddening for most, though for him, a reality he was accepting to. Who needed a loving and caring woman in your life when you had cigarettes and a bottle of scotch that were equally just as good?  
  
"Goodness, has it really been thirty years since those disappearances?" said Mrs Flanagan, talking to herself as her attention focused on a shelf of newspapers. She studied the leading headline. "I didn't think it had been that long. Those poor people, it's a shame. Such a shame indeed."  
  
"It's been thirty years?" Henry joined Mrs Flanagan, beginning to read the article. "Wow, time sure does fly. Only seems like yesterday since I quit working at that place."  
  
_More like since everything went to shit._  
  
Mrs Flanagan suspired when she remembered the conspiracies folk had come up with. "You should consider yourself lucky ya didn't end up like your peers. All this talk of sinister happenings and supernatural causes just comes to show how much people eat up when it comes to the media. They'll do anything to get the lads and lasses talkin'. You alright, Henry?"  
  
Henry faked a smile. "I'm fine."  
  
_Of course you are._  



	3. Your Best Pal

_ Later that day _

**_Flynn Residence_ **

Stepping through the doorway, Hazel closed the door behind her and slid her sandals off her feet, wiggling her toes into the carpet for a moment before glancing at the couch, spotting her uncle sleeping in what she would have thought to be an uncomfortable position, but it didn't seem like he was experiencing any form of discomfort. Quietly, she walked into the dining room and sat at the table, putting her bag on the chair next to her and retrieving what she had gathered. The newspaper article, the photograph of Phyllis and Sammy and the folded paper she had been given were lined up in a row.

Unfolding the paper, it revealed two others standing in a loving embrace while dressed in fine casual wear, a man and a woman. Old fashioned writing made it easier for Hazel to identify the couple, reading the names aloud.

"Samuel and Phillipa."

_ Mr Lawrence's parents,  _ she reasoned. _ The photograph, along with the other one, were definitely taken around the same time. They appear to be of the higher class as well, which makes a lot of sense given their careers. If only his parents were still alive now, they may have been able to help me. _

Glancing over at Shawn, Hazel made the decision to wake him so that they could talk. She had been made well aware by her parents and grandmother that her great-uncle was not a man who liked talking about the past, but if it would aid her in her case, she had to stand tall and take the risk. Standing, she left the assets on the table and went to the slumbering man, seeing a plate with crumbs on it placed on the coffee table, indicating that he had ate. Relieved to see the sight, Hazel lightly patted Shawn's shoulder.

"Uncle Flynn?"

Upon hearing the soft voice of his niece, his eyes slowly began opening and closing before he became aware and awake. He yawned, stretching and then rubbing his eyes. He looked up at Hazel, smiling.

"Hello, love. Back so soon?"

"It's nearly four o'clock, Uncle Flynn." responded Hazel, helping him sit up. "Did you manage alright while I was gone?"

"Ye worry too much about yer good ol' uncle, Hal. I'm fine. Is there somethin' ya needed?" asked Shawn, taking a second to let his back ease.

"I need to ask you something, if that's alright. It's about Joey Drew Studios."

An abstract force grabbed at Shawn's throat, trapping air inside it for a brief moment. When his breath had been replenished, he exhaled. He refrained from turning away, his tone of voice shifting to that of a serious one.

"Sit down, Hazel. It's about time I admit a few truths, yer more than old enough to understand now."

Hazel did just that, sitting next to Shawn.

"Those letters I used to send ya, back when ye were a teenager." he began, the resurfacing memories taking him back to his younger days."...I wasn't being truthful. When I said I loved me job, I was lyin'. Working for that Yankee bastard was Hell, that man had a temper like no tomorrow, I tell ye. Used to fly off the handle at me for the littlest of mistakes, mistakes that I easily could have fixed. He was like this with all his workers. Demanding, sometimes verbally abusive if someone managed really piss him off. I tolerated it for a good while until I finally let me voice be heard. I walked straight to his office, told him that I quit and packed everything I could before leaving that damned place forever. I never looked back after that day, getting whatever work I could to pay the bills and keep a roof over me head, I would have kept workin' if it hadn't of been for the arthritis kickin' in. I'm sorry for hidin' this from ye and the family, love, I really am."

The truth was no doubt a shock for Hazel. Her blood boiled at the mere thought of anyone hurting her uncle, one fist clenching.

_ That man had the audacity to behave that way towards his staff? I swear if I find him, he'll be getting more than a piece of my mind! _

"I know this may be hard for ye to hear, Hally," Shawn understood, putting his arm around her, letting her use his shoulder as a cushion. "But there isn't anything that can be done about it now. What happened in the past stays in the past, as I always say. I didn't see any need to bring it up after all this time; I knew it would have crushed ye to learn the truth. I'm sorry; I hope ya can forgive me."

Without questioning her actions, Hazel spoke. "Of course I can forgive you, Uncle Flynn. It's just a shock, is all. To think that you were happy all that time again when that wasn't the case, it hurts."

"I understand, dear." I hope ye don't mind me askin' but, what made ya want to know about the studio? Was it because of that story in the paper?"

"You could say that." Hazel lied, comfortable in Shawn's arms. "I was simply curious."

Shawn chuckled; he knew she would say something like that. "Ye and yer mysteries. One never fails to catch yer eye, does it? Hehe, yer more like yer dad than ye realise."

Hazel faked a laugh and smile. "I guess I am. I'm going to go and take a bath, I won't be long."

Shawn pulled away, kissing her forehead. "Take as long as ya want, Hally."

Hazel got off the couch and, when she was sure Shawn's back was turned, went back to the dining table and picked up the pictures and newspaper clipping. Bringing them with her as she walked up the stairs, she put them in her room before preparing a bath, being sure to add a lot of bubbles. When it had finished running she swirled cold water around before taking off her clothes, folding them and hanging them up. She sighed when her body came into contact with the warm water, tilting her head back. It was calm in the bathroom, even as the muffled audio of the television sounded through the walls; it wasn't enough to stop her from relaxing. The ceiling wasn't much to look at, a bland white colour which incorporated with schemes of blue and cream that matched with the tiled walls.

A sudden thought came to mind while Hazel was trying to settle, which caused her to jolt up.

_ I didn't finish the Doctor Pepper and Fritos! And I call myself a law abiding citizen. Bloody Hell... _

***

The drive home felt like a long one, especially with the traffic. Stopping at the lights, Henry tapped his fingers against the dashboard out of boredom and waited for the lights to turn green as the radio played. The sun was setting and the sky possessed colours of red, orange and yellow, giving light with a warm hue to it, shining down onto the earth. At this time of day, Burbank seemed like a completely different place.

**"** **It's my party, and I'll cry if I want to**

**Cry if I want to, cry if I want to**

**You would cry too if it happened to you**

**Nobody knows where my Johnny has gone**

**Judy left the same time**

**Why was he holding her hand?**

**When he's supposed to be mine?**

**It's my party, and I'll cry if I want to**

**Cry if I want to, cry if I want to**

**You would cry too if it happened to you**

**Judy and Johnny just walked through the door**

**Like a queen with her king**

**Oh what a birthday surprise**

**Judy's wearin' his ring."**

_ This has to be one of the most irritating songs ever made. That and Surfin' Bird. _

__

Turning the volume all the way down, the green light singled Henry could continue driving. Taking the next exit, he drove right until he reached the apartment complex he lived in. Finding a place to park his car, he got out and closed the door, locking it. It was the same routine day after day. He'd get up, go to work and come home.

After taking the lift to the sixth floor, Henry travelled down the corridor and was greeted by his neighbour, Eloise Andrews. A strawberry blonde with doe-like brown eyes dressed in patterned loose clothing and bearing a peace symbol necklace.

"Evening, Henry. How are you?"

"Oh, hi Eloise." addressed Henry, pleasantly. "I'm doing alright, I guess. How about you?"

"I got back from a protest a couple hours ago." returned Eloise, running a hand through her hair. "It didn't exactly go well. My group and I were protesting in the street with a bunch of other people before the police were called. Some got arrested while most of us made a run for it. Other than that, my day was hunky dory."

"Sounds tough." commented Henry, he didn't really see what protesting would achieve but he respected the cause his friend was fighting for. "I'm sorry that happened."

"Yeah, but it won't stop us. We're planning another protest sometimes this week, hopefully this time it'll end better. You wanna come in for a coffee?"

"Thanks, but work really took it out of me today." he half lied, producing a faux yawn. "Maybe some other time, yeah?"

"Sure thing. Have a good night, Henry."

"You too, Eloise."

After saying goodbye Henry walked until he reached his apartment, getting his key from his pocket and putting it in the lock, turning it once before it made a 'click'. Opening the door, he entered and closed it behind him, switching on the light.

The interior of the apartment wasn't the greatest though it wasn't the worst thing in the world. Plain wooden floors added only for convenience told stories of the past with scuffs and whiskey stains, windows allowing a clear view of the lively city, cars driving on the roads and pedestrians walking on the pavements. To the right there was a small kitchen dining room with a square shaped table that had scratches and chips in the woodwork and two chairs in need of replacing. There was also a brown sofa with chequered patterns and a circular coffee table with an ashtray in the middle standing opposite it, the television nothing really special either. The door leading to his bedroom more often than not remained closed, the tenant preferring drunken nights on the settee rather than sleep. The bathroom, however, was always open.

"Home sweet home." said Henry, little to no emotion in his voice. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally. If the purple bags underneath his eyes weren't enough to show it, he didn't know what was. Going to the kitchen, he opened the first cupboard and sight, spotting an unopened bottle of scotch. As if on cue, the American picked it up before plopping down on the sofa, unscrewing the cap of the bottle he took a huge swig before turning on the television, watching the screen lazily as he drank the whiskey in small intervals, not wishing to get hammered too quickly. He wanted to savour the flavour of his drink, let it tingle on his taste buds and travel down his throat like the sweet yet intoxicating syrup it was.

When the next hour struck, the glass bottle was nearly half empty. Sighing, Henry slowly shook his head. Was this all his life was? Recovering from hangovers, smoking, going to work, coming home and doing the whole thing over? It sure seemed like it.

"Still think I'm great, Dad? Yeah right, I'm a fucking disaster. "

Setting the bottle down, Henry reached into his pocket and took out a box of cigarettes and a lighter. Taking a cigarette, he put it in his mouth and flicked the lighter until it produced a flame, setting the tobacco filled paper alit and inhaling the smoke, breathing out a grey cloud and coughing. This repeated for a minute until the tip burned out and Henry's stomach gurgled, telling him that it was time to eat. Ignoring the organ's calls, he decided to see if any mail had been left for him. It was a relatively short journey to the mailbox and finding it wasn't an issue. The only letters that tended to be in there were reminders to pay his bills on time from the landlord, though from what he could see there was nothing like that contained in it. There was a single envelope addressed to him, his name written clearly. Holding the envelope in his hands, he went back to the apartment and sat at the table, carefully opening the envelope and taking the letter out to read it. The paper it was written on was yellowing with little splatters of dry ink, and on the bottom right was a circular horned head with a 'B' in the centre.

_ "Dear Henry, _

_ It seems like a lifetime since we worked on cartoons together. 30 years really slips away, doesn't it? _

_ If you're back in town, come visit the old workshop. There's something I need to show you. _

_ Your best pal, _

_ Joey Drew." _

Henry's eyes widened in horror as he finished reading, his skin paling and breathing laboured. Launching for the bathroom door, he practically forced it open and rushed for the toilet, vomiting into the bowl. It couldn't be...could it?

_ This has gotta be some kind of sick joke, there's no way...there's no way he'd write to me after all this time. It's been so long, it has to be a prank, right? But...what if it's not? What if he actually wants to meet with me? Oh, who am I kidding? The guy treated me like trash, he wasn't a true friend. Even so, maybe I'm being a little too harsh, everyone deserves a second chance. _

__

Crumpling the letter and envelope into a ball, he threw it into the nearest bin and eased into his seat, folding his arms with a 'heh'.

"Just comes to show how much of a trustworthy fool you really are. Thought by now you would'a learned your lesson. Oh well, back to doing what you always do, Hank. Drink your plights away until you pass out."

And that was exactly what he did, allowing the alcohol to drag him further into the darkness and cloud his sense of self for the remainder of the evening, going on into the late hours of the night.

***

**_Flynn Residence_ **

Lying on her bed, Hazel gazed at the two photographs in her hands, in deep thinking. Although picturing a still moment, a past moment in time, it left Hazel in a state of awe. Numerous questions circled her mind, drawing her in more and more.

_ They seemed so happy;  _ she observed Samuel and Phillipa's oblivious grins.  _ Completely unaware of what would happen to their son and his co-workers. What kind of world do we live in for these tragedies to happen? Ms Lawrence and the loved ones of those who went missing are suffering, alone and waiting tirelessly. _

The detective shed a single tear, cursing her emotions after she had wiped it away. If she was on a paid assignment she would have naturally kept her feelings to herself, she would have done what was asked of her and take the case of money. No money was involved this time, no briefcases, no one in suits. Just a piece of crumpled newspaper and two creased at the corner images she remembered she had to be careful with. Sighing, she stopped thinking as not to overwhelm her brain and put the evidence where she knew it would be safe, the first drawer of the bedside table. Getting into her bed, she snuggled into the duvet, the ticking of the alarm clock allowing her to close her eyes and focus on getting an early night's sleep.

She just hoped, like she always did, that the sleep would last until a reasonable time.


	4. Joey Drew Studios (Part 1)

**Note: This piece of writing contains implied traumatic experiences and a mention of suicide. If you are not comfortable with these themes I highly advise that you do not read on.**

_ The next day, _

**_Henry's Apartment_ **

As foretold by the weather anchor, the morning was just like any other in sunny California. The humidity was higher than it was the day before, making it a predicament for those who had planned to spend the day inside. Not that there would be many people planning to do that, anyway. The beach and boardwalk would be jam-packed with people of all ages, some who would want to spend their time working on their tan and others who simply wished to enjoy the delights the stalls had to offer their consumers.

The sun had completed its task of ascending into the sky, signifying the start of all things mundane and downright ordinary. Mouth wide open and producing snoring, Henry was slumbering on his couch, little puddles of dried saliva staining his ruffled shirt. The ring of the whiskey bottle balanced between two of his fingers, the remainder of the liquid comfort at a concerning amount. Cigarette butts and speckles of ash littered the ashtray, the rest of the addictive killers standing upright on the table in their packaging. As the sunlight hit

Henry's eyes, his senses began to kick in and he slowly opened them. He groaned, everything in sight blurry before becoming clear like the surface of a crystal.

"...Ugh...Fuck..." he seethed through his teeth, a pending hangover coming into full effect. His head throbbed, causing him an immense amount of pain. Along with a headache came the urge to bring up the contents of his alcohol ridden stomach. It was a continuous maze of never-ending madness, but a price he was willing to pay if it meant he could temporarily escape from the daily torment that was his life.

Using as much strength as his body would allow, Henry sat up with a grunt and placed his palm on his forehead, getting his bearings. Bringing both legs to the side of the couch, he got on to his feet and stretched, yawning in the process. Sluggishly, he made his way to the kitchen and rummaged through the drawers, looking for painkillers. In the top drawer was a nearly empty blister pack with only one row of unused pills. Cursing, he popped two tablets out of the packaging and got himself some water, putting both on his mouth and swallowing them in a single gulp. Henry knew it would take a little while for the medication to kick in, so to pass the time he decided to get himself cleaned up.

The journey to the bathroom was a short one. It was far from being a spacious setting, with cracked tiles and floors that needed refurbishing. Cleaning products of different kinds filled the shelves and a toothbrush and tube of toothpaste were stored in a plastic cup on the side of the sink. Above the ceramic was a cabinet that contained first aid supplies such as bandages, band-aids, cotton balls and hydrogen peroxide.

Undressing, Henry stepped into the shower and turned the dial, sighing as hundreds of droplets fell. The water darkened his hair and trickled down his back, moving in singular motions as he stood still, becoming lost to the sounds that only he could hear. They were loud, cancelling out the tapping of the shower until they were a messy amalgam, shaking his very core and labouring his otherwise stable breaths. His eyes began to sting and his balance weakened, his legs giving out and sending him downwards.

Tears started their descent, a quick but heart-wrenching cry passing Henry before turning into sobbing, covering his ears to silence the horrific noises. He wanted to scream, do anything for it all to stop, though he knew it wouldn't. The ghosts of the past would never simply cease their regular routine, they couldn't do that. All they could do was continue, for it was all they knew how.

***

**_Long Beach Police Department_ **

**_Head Office_ **

Files stacked in piles balanced on top of one another in an organised order, assortments of paper scattered across the desk. Balls of dust had taken residence in the corners of the room, remains of sharpened pencils peeking from the dirty rug. A window offered some kind of salvation for the hectic space, though other than that there was nothing. It didn't take an idiot to deduce that the person who had claimed the space as their own wasn't exactly the practical type, though, for the sake of remaining professional, Hazel was forced to keep her mouth shut.

Officer William-Scott Phillips, a man of equal age to Hazel and a broad structure, sat opposite the detective, holding a file and reading what was detailed inside. He looked up after a moment or so, addressing the woman. "So, you're interested in the Joey Drew Studios case?"

"Yes." Hazel nodded, hands on her lap. "I read that the department was planning to reopen their former investigation."

"'Considering'." corrected Phillips, not sounding that interested. "We're 'considering' it." he shook his head, discarding the file with a sigh by returning it to where it had originally been piled. "Let me be honest with ya, Detective. My superiors and I couldn't care less about the investigation, we tried solving it and we failed, every lead we had led us nowhere. The only reason it's even talked about these days is that the press won't stop pushing for answers- answers that if we had, we would give. But we don't."

"Then why put reopening it into consideration when you plan to do nothing?" questioned Hazel, suspicious of what was being said. "It doesn't make any sense."

"It was a move to get the nosy fuckers off our backs, for a little while at least." admitted Phillips, attitude changing. "We have much more important things to be getting on with and their constant bothering isn't doing us any favours. That case took a severe toll on the physical and mental health of many officers, and out of all of the ones that handed in their badges all that time ago, there was one fatality."

_ Oh my God, Hazel froze. Someone d-died? _

"M-may I ask who?"

"My father," responded Phillips, face laced with sadness. "He was the one leading the investigation. Things started out well at first but...then they changed. He changed. As time went on, it became too much for him to handle. The guy ended up losing his mind, took his own life by jumping off the roof of this very building."

"Dear God," spoke Hazel, voice soft and gentle. "I can't even begin to...I'm so sorry, Officer Phillips."

"Not your fault," reassured Phillips, pained by the events that had taken place. "I was done being angry at what he did years ago. You seem passionate about what you do and I respect that, really. But from one person of the law to another, I wouldn't advise perusing whatever investigation you have planned. Trust me, someone like you wouldn't last five minutes."

Hazel clenched a fist, body trembling from sudden frustration.  _ "What?" _

The noirette's eyes widened when he realised what he had meant came out wrong. He swore under his breath, trying to resolve the situation before it escalated into something worse. "I-I didn't mean it like that, I'm-"

"You think I can't solve this case because I'm a woman! I should have known I would have been met with sexist comments; you're no different from the police back in England! You've all got your heads up your arses!" Hazel couldn't help but laugh, to think she had been so stupid. "I'm pursuing my investigation with or without your help. If you try to stop me from doing my job, I'll see to it that your entire department is stripped of their badges. Good day to you."

Rising from her seat, she picked up the files that she needed to read through and turned on her heel, balancing the stack on one hand and using the other to open the office door, slamming it shut when she made her exit.

Phillips remained in his chair, a stunned expression turning into a smirk. He crossed his leg over the other, elbows on the table. He locked his fingers together, leaning inward.

"Heh. Feisty. I like it."

***

**_Flanagan's Gifts & Convenience_ **

If it wasn't customers Henry was dealing with on an unchanging basis, it was good old Mimsy Young. A woman who frequented the store and (according to rumours) preferred older men. Henry had dealt with her persistence ever since he had started working for his long-time friend and if he was being completely honest, it was beginning to get under his skin.

"I don't know how you've not been able to swoop a gal off her feet, Mr Munroe," said Mimsy, who was too busy staring at her French manicure. "I think you'd make a lady real happy. Just gotta give someone a chance, y'know?"

Henry was trying not to snap, reminding himself that he had to keep a smile on his face even if it was challenging. "As much as I appreciate the notion, Mimsy, I'll tell you what I've told others. I'm not interested."

"You can't be serious," she answered, bending forward and earning a whistle from anyone who had the pleasure of walking by. "There's no way a guy like you can remain single for so long and not get so much as a single admirer. Loneliness hurts, Mr Munroe. If it hasn't hit ya by now, it will at some point."

Mrs Flanagan could sense that Henry was feeling uneasy. Her internal instincts put themselves into full motion, her little self marching over to where her employee was.

"Oh for Christ's sake! How many times does the man have to tell ya that he's not interested!? Aye, don't think I haven't heard what people have said about you, favourin' the older gent and what not. If you're not going to buy anything, why don't you do us a favour and piss off!"

_ Damn, thought Henry, astonished by his boss's outburst. Way to go, Mrs Flanagan! _

Lips creating the shape of an 'o', Mimsy showed herself out with a flip of her hair and a spoilt 'hmph'. Pleased that she was gone, Henry celebrated with a quick breath of relief. Mrs Flanagan patted his shoulder with a reassuring face.

"Don't ya be worryin' now, dearie," she said, smiling. "The lass won't be showin' her face around here again unless she wants another earful from me." she looked at the time, reaching into the front of her apron and revealing a box of cigarettes, giving them a light shake. "Smoke break?"

Henry nodded, he could never say no to tobacco. "Sure."

The two went into the back, met with the heat as soon as they stepped foot outside. Lighting themselves a cigarette each, they exchanged silence before Mrs Flanagan snapped its shell, exhaling smoke. She got down to the nitty-gritty, cigarette cushioned between her wrinkled fingers.

"You're not all right, are ya Henry?"

The question almost made Henry's heart stop, both figuratively and literally. After a moment, he answered. "I'm fine, Mrs Flanagan."

"Don't lie to me." sighed Mrs Flanagan, sounding as though she was trying to refrain from choking up. "Please. I've suspected that you haven't been yourself for a while now, I just...didn't want to think it was true."

"Again, I'm fine -" lied Henry, though the Scot was quick to hush him. She shook her head, dropping her cigarette and using her heel to put it out. Amelia Flanagan wasn't a crier and so it was rare to see her sad. Though when she did cry, it was for a good reason. She got onto her tiptoes, cupping the giant's cheek.

"You're a good man, Henry, and good men don't deserve to suffer. "That's why; as much as it pains me to say it...I think it'd be best if you left for a while so that you can get your head together."

Seeing his motherly figure cry in front of him like she was doing hurt just as much as her words. She was right about one thing though:

He needed to get his head together.

"Mrs Flanagan, I don't-"

"It'll be paid leave, of course," added Mrs Flanagan, bringing Henry into a hug, the flame reaching the end of his cigarette, the rolled up paper and remaining filler crumbling into fine bits of blackened ash. "It's for the best, dear. I know it's not what you want to hear right now, but this time away; it may do ya the world of good."

Henry stepped back, trying desperately to hold back tears. "Mrs Flanagan, I don't know what you think is going on, but whatever it is it's not true. I'm fine."

"Henry, please just think about it-"

"I don't need paid leave and I certainly don't need pity," said Henry, harshly at that. "I'm going inside."


	5. Joey Drew Studios (Part 2)

**_Long Beach Police Department_ **

**_The Archives_ **

Tall silver drawers with a slight shine stood upright, standing in rows of four. Housed in those compartments were hundreds upon hundreds of old records, all from investigations that had been conducted since 1869. The archives were empty for the most part, lacking any sort of brightness or colour. The brick walls made the room feel smaller than it actually was- like they could close in on you whenever they chose. A window gave some natural light and exposure to the outside world, though wasn't completely successful in curing the drabness of the place.

A broken bulb hung from the ceiling, without any sort of lampshade to cover it. Its fuse had long since blown and needed to be fixed. If one were to inspect the floor, they would more than likely find remains of the artificial light source that once held a purpose.

Hazel turned a page, picking up her pen and adding to a sheet of lined paper that was already full of notes. From time to time she highlighted specific parts by circling them, but all of that stopped when she came to a standstill. She tapped the pen against the paper, giving a soft pout of her lips.

"Interesting. So Mr Drew was questioned after the disappearance of Mr Lawrence, and the police had to let him go due to a lack of evidence. Maybe this is what Officer Phillips meant by tried and failed...or perhaps it goes into something much deeper."

_ His father took his own life because of the former investigation,  _ she remembered. _ In such a horrific way as well. It would have been a quick end for him, but...oh God, how could I have been so stupid? My outburst at Officer Phillips was completely unnecessary and highly unprofessional, I'll have to apologise to him before I leave. _

As she was about to get back to what she had been doing, the Briton was interrupted by the opening and closing of a door, her eyes watching who walked in. It was Officer Phillips. He stood behind Hazel, seeing that she had been hard at work. He peered over at her notes, gaining an annoyed look from her.

"Do you mind not doing that?" she protested, face blank of any emotion as she read the files. "I'm trying concentrate and you breathing down my neck isn't exactly helping. Either get a chair or bugger off."

Phillips chuckled softly, the detective was...well, she sure was something.

"Sorry." he apologised, pulling up an extra chair and sitting at the table. "Look, I didn't come here to get in your way or try and put you down. I came to apologise."

Hazel smoothed the creases out of her skirt and faced Phillips, locking her hands together. "Apologise for what?"

Phillips sighed, knowing his words were due. "For the misunderstanding back there. I wasn't trying to assume anything, I...God, this is gonna sound cliché...I don't want you to go through the same thing my dad did. I lost someone I cared about and there's nothing anyone can do to change that, and the thought of someone else's family going through the same pain hurts. I wouldn't wish what I went through on anyone, not even my worst enemy."

"You were trying to drive me away," deduced Hazel, her guilt escalating. "To keep me safe. Officer Phillips, I had no idea. I'm so sorry. If I'd-"

"It's okay; you're not the one in the wrong here. The only one who should be apologising is me." assured Phillips. "I let my personal feelings get in the way when I shouldn't have and that caused you to make an assumption. I'm sorry."

Hazel accepted the apology with a soft smile and a fold of her arms. "Thank you, though I still feel like I should apologise for my unprofessionalism. I'm sorry for snapping, that was completely unacceptable and I acknowledge my mistake. I hope you can forgive me."

Phillips reached into his trouser pocket and took out a box of cigarettes, taking one. "Want one, Detective?"

Hazel nodded, taking a cigarette.

"Don't mind if I do, Officer."

***

**_Flanagan's Gifts & Convenience_ **

Henry stood behind the counter, counting up the money that was in the cash register. He started with the five dollar bills before working his way up to the tens and twenties, putting the money back when he had finished. The store had made a profit at least, considering people usually only came to get beach essentials and food and drinks to stimulate their hunger and quench their thirst.

"Well, it's something." he said, closing the till. Other than the radio playing The Billboard Hot 100, all was quiet. The music of today was nowhere near as appealing as the music of his youth. He remembered the days of the Charleston and the era of swing, the times of Cab Calloway and the Andrews Sisters. Besides the Great Depression and other events that had occurred during his fifty four years of living, the memories he had were both pleasant and unpleasant ones. But as the old saying went:

"That's life."

Mrs Flanagan was busy swatting bugs with her broom, grumbling about them as they landed on the floor and she swept them away. Occasionally she gave Henry a guilty glance before continuing to exterminate the creepy crawlies, stomping on some with her heel.

"Ugh, little bastards." she grimaced as she looked at the bottom of her shoe, doing her best to scrape off the remains of the insect. "Always leavin' a damn mess after ya squish 'em. Nuisances."

Henry didn't pay much attention to his boss, instead casting his mind back to the letter he had received from his old pal (well, supposedly). He was conflicted, not sure what to believe. On one hand the letter could have been a prank some kids had decided to pull, then again, Halloween was a long way off. On the other, it could have been genuine and had indeed been written by his former friend and business partner. If he was going to believe his second thought was true, then a question remained:

_ "Why has he waited until now?" _

Initially, the store assistant had determined Joey Drew wasn't worth his time, especially after the way he treated him all those years ago. But, if he was trying to put things right, then who was Henry to deny his fellow man a chance to prove himself?

It was set. He would go to the old workshop and see what Joey had to show him. It was only fair, seeing he had gone through the effort of reaching out.

_ You better not make me regret this, Joey. _

"Hey, uh, Mrs Flanagan? Is it okay if I head out for a little bit? I just remembered. I've got something I need to sort out." fibbed Henry, neither right nor wrong. "A private matter."

"A private matter?" questioned Mrs Flanagan, broom in hand. "Henry, ya haven't been on shift that long, are you sure it cannae wait?"

"I'll try not to be gone long, I promise."

Henry untied the back of his apron and pulled it over his head, hanging it up before he left. Mrs Flanagan said nothing, staying still for a moment before bowing her head and slowly shaking it, eyes on the floor.

_ It's my fault, isn't it? He's still mad at me. I should have known. Nice going, Amelia. _

There was a loud metal twang as Henry pulled the car door shut, turning the keys in the ignition and adjusting the rear view mirror, driving away. He checked the fuel tank and frowned, knowing he'd have to make a stop at the nearest gas station. It would be some time before he would reach the studio, he thought. The journey would take around twenty minutes, probably twenty five since he'd have to take a detour. Not particularly lengthy, but somewhat inconvenient all the same. He proceeded to wonder the same thing as he drove, turning a corner and being stopped by traffic. There were more cars in front of him, at this rate it would take thirty five minutes or longer to get to the workshop.

_ So much for not being gone too long. _

A driver behind him slammed his car horn twice, yelling from his window. "Hey, what's taking so long!? Come on, move it!"

The horn beeped another two times, causing Henry to take action. He raised an arm and showed the person in the other vehicle the finger. He wasn't going to deal with someone in a fit of road rage; he couldn't be bothered when he had other business to take care of. He looked at his wrist watch and sighed, tapping his fingers against the dashboard. He turned on the radio to see what was on; again, it was the same old songs he'd heard so many times before.

Yep, this 'errand' was going to be longer than he originally thought.

***

**_Joey Drew Studios_ **

The building was in a diabolical state of disrepair. In between the cracks were plants that had begun to reclaim what was once a lively space for Mother Nature's bidding. A large sign that read 'Joey Drew Studios' had chips in the letters; the paint having peeled and faded throughout the years it had been left. Wood boarded up squares that would have housed glass panes, glass that was left was smashed and shattered, pieces scattered on the windowsills and ground. There was a cold aura surrounding the studio, the mellow summer's breeze turning into a chilly one to correspond with said vibe.

"Strange. I'm certain the weatherman said it would be warm all day." said Hazel, rubbing her arms. "Oh well. At least I brought my coat and gloves. You can never predict when the weather will decide to change. Now, let's see about getting in to this building."

_ I didn't think it would be so big. This was an animation studio, right? Oh, Hazel, don't be stupid! Of course it was an animation studio, there's a giant sign saying Joey Drew Studios! Come on now, enough questions, you have to figure out a way to get inside. _

Walking further to Joey Drew Studios, she soon saw that like the boarded up windows, the door was also sealed shut with a plank of wood, nails holding it up. Cracking her knuckles, she gripped the board with both hands and pulled with all her might until the nails gave way, now free from the hard material and causing Hazel to stumble backwards, falling on her back.

"Shit!" she swore, throwing the wood away and standing up, brushing dirt away and placing her hat back on her head. She stretched, her back cracking in the process.

_ I'm too old for this,  _ she thought.  _ Damn it. _

With the wooden plank out of the way she was free to enter. She reached for the doorknob, turning it. It didn't budge. Just as she was about to try breaking the door, she was startled when she heard a voice call to her. It was masculine, she deduced, possibly belonging to a man in his early or mid fifties.

"Hey! What are you doing!?"

Turning around, Hazel immediately recognised the person's face. It was the man from the shop, the assistant who had helped her get her drink. She reached into her bag and took out her badge, a formal identification of her career.

"This isn't what you think, sir. I've come to investigate the disappearances that occurred thirty years ago. A personal assignment, if you will."

Henry walked over to her, studying the badge she held up when he got close enough. He read the information on it; it seemed to be pretty legit.

_ Hazel Wainwright _

_ Private Detective for Wainwright Investigation Services _

"Sorry for the misunderstanding, Detective." Henry apologised, hand on the back of his head. "Thought you were trying to break in. You can't be too careful around here. You said you were investigating the disappearances?"

_ It's the lady that was in the store the other day _ , he thought.

"Yes." Hazel nodded, putting her badge back in her bag. "I heard they'd never been truly answered so I decided to have a go at finding out what happened. It's been a long time; people have a right to answers. Especially the friends and loved ones of those who went missing."

"I'd have to agree." said Henry, backing what was being said. "The whole thing's been surrounded with mystery, no one knows how or why the disappearances happened. Not even me. Though if it's answers you're looking for, I may be able to help you with some of them. I'm Henry, Henry Munroe."

"Hazel Wainwright. Nice to meet you, Mr Munroe. I appreciate you wanting to help me."

Henry and Hazel shook hands once they had introduced themselves, the small woman feeling slightly intimidated by the giant's size. She'd never seen a man so tall- well, there was Sammy Lawrence, but those were only in the photos.

"So what brings you here, Mr Munroe?" Hazel asked, building up some casual conversation.

"Call me Henry." Henry insisted politely. "My old friend sent a letter to me saying that there was something he wanted to show me. Not sure what though, he wasn't specific." he took in how the business he had helped Joey to create was now in ruin. "Damn, this place has seen better days. I can't believe how different it looks now. Guess it's true what they say, time doesn't wait for anything."

"It certainly doesn't." Hazel said with a nod, then motioned to the door. "I would say let's make our way inside, but the door doesn't seem to want to open."

"Let me try." Henry went to the door and turned the knob, hearing a click and lightly pushing it open. "There we go. Guess it just needed a strong hand." he stepped aside, allowing Hazel to enter first. "After you."

Hazel smiled and a faint blush brightened her cheeks. She entered the studio, Henry following behind and closing the door, being careful to mind his head so that he wouldn't hit it on the archway. The studio was a dirty yellowish colour, with posters promoting the cartoons Joey Drew and his staff had produced over the years on the walls, paper that was clean and crisp had wrinkled and creased. Hazel looked at each poster, all depicting different characters such as Bendy the Dancing Demon and Boris the Wolf. She recognised the names of some of the shorts, having viewed them in her teens.

"So this is it. The famous Joey Drew Studios. I heard rumours Mr Drew had a rivalry with Walt Disney. Of course, that's just speculation. I wouldn't blame him for butting heads with Mr Disney; he is a creative man after all."

In the first room, a projector flickered on the screen and a sign with turning reels reading 'Joey Drew Studios' in capital letters presented itself fancily on the wall. There was a desk and chair that hadn't been used in a long time, and a random speaker sat on another chair that was near the flickering light. Hazel heard Henry sigh, her focus turning to him.

"Alright, Joey, I'm here. Let's see if we can find what you wanted me to see."

The two began searching, journeying through a mini corridor with a small office space that had a chair and desk. On the desk was an old drawing of a smiling demon with a note that simply said 'NO' at the side of it. A rejected design. By the desk's side was a Bendy cut-out that possessed a mischievous grin.

"I wasted so much time in this chair." recalled Henry, a nostalgic expression on his face. "The hours just seemed to fly by whenever I was drawing."

"I assume this is one of yours?" Hazel picked up the drawing, admiring the quality. "It's fantastic. Much more sweet looking than that creepy looking thing." she pointed to the cut-out. "What's it doing there anyway?"

Henry shrugged his shoulders. "Beats me. Let's keep going."

Hazel nodded at Henry's suggestion, going into another room with even more desks and chairs, a bigger workspace to house more animators/concept artists. Exploring the room further, Hazel discovered a boarded up toilet and was more confused than disgusted.

_ Why in God's name would there be a toilet here? _

"Looks like they knocked down a wall or two after I left." noted Henry, seeing the work stations. "Guess it took a few people to replace me. Four by the looks of it."

Hazel took the opportunity to study Henry. He reached the six foot mark and had brown hair that was greying. He wore a brown shirt with a white collared t-shirt underneath, with matching brown pants and loafers. On his left eye there was a scar, and underneath both eyes were dark circles that indicated he was someone who didn't sleep much. He was tough bodied, she saw, having a muscular frame.

_ Not bad. Not bad at all. _


	6. Moving Pictures (Part 1)

The earthy and musty smell of rotting oak would make someone think they were walking through a forest, with odours of damp bark and wet mud. Long and narrow corridors were enough to allow reality to sink back in that this location wasn't the woodlands and rather a neglected structure. Panels that had loosened creaked and squeaked, a medium-sized hole in the wall letting in a cold and unwanted draft. If it hadn't of been for its viewable flaws, the entire studio would have looked like it had been frozen in time, left in a specific way by those who had once used it.

Henry let out a shiver, goosebumps popping up on his skin and the hairs on his body sticking up. He rubbed his arms in upward and downward motions, the chilling air filling his ever tarring lungs. Hazel's eyes watched the taller man as his build naturally acted out, the edges of her lips turning into a frown. Unbuttoning her coat, she removed it and got onto her toes, placing the shoulders of the coat onto her companion's own. Henry paused, stopping to look at the clothing that hadn't been there before. Before he could thank the smaller woman, she had already gone, reading a sign that said:

**_Art Department_ **

**_Ink Machine_ **

**_Theatre_ **

**_Breakroom_ **

_ Ink Machine? What the Hell is an Ink Machine?  _

Hazel allowed Henry to catch up with her, seeing he was falling behind a little. He too read the list of the facilities before speaking.

"Jeez you're fast." he pointed out, the coat that was much too small sitting securely on his shoulders. "One minute you're walking with me and the next you're not."

The detective didn't say anything at first, not seeing her quick pace as a big deal. "When you've worked in a job that requires you to run around like a blue arsed fly for twenty years, you get used to being fast. Come along now, we don't have time to dawdle. The quicker you find your friend and I obtain the information I need, the sooner we can leave this place."

Henry was left confused over Hazel's choice of wording, though pressed on regardless and followed the younger woman. They turned right, coming face to face with the words  **DREAMS COME TRUE** written in ink. More of the black substance dripped from a cavity in the ceiling, forming a puddle on the floor.

"Kids." they muttered, walking further down another corridor and examining a few doors that turned out to be locked. At the end of the corridor there was a tally chart reading 'Ink Output Schedule', with the first letters of the days of the week starting from Monday to Saturday showing how much ink had been used on each respective day, a grand total of four hundred and twenty three gallons of ink emphasised with exclamation marks and a single underline. Henry and Hazel then stepped over a led pipe upon noticing a sign telling them to watch their step, the two taking a left and being met with a balcony and a very large workspace below it. Sunlight was barely able to seep through the cracks through the panels and bulky chains burrowed into a deep and seemingly empty abyss.

"Looks like this lift could use a few dry cells." Henry motioned to a power unit, with two slots to place the dry cells into. Hazel searched around, finding a trunk and popping it open to discover one of the needed items was in there while another was on a shelf.

"They're over here. I'll get this one, and you can grab the other."

Henry nodded, getting the other dry cell and placing it into the correct place. Hazel did the same, making sure it was in place as she put into the compartment. Locating a lever, the cashier prepared to push it down.

"Let's see what you're hiding down there, old friend." 

There was a creak as the bar was pushed, the chains squeaking and clanking while they hauled what was hiding into complete view. Before them was a gigantic mechanical device, a burst of steam blowing from it and pipes attached to the side and bottom.

"Holy shit." they spoke, almost breathlessly as they stood in awe. Hazel quickly scribbled something down in her book, not wasting any time. Every note counted.

"So this must be the Ink Machine. I've never seen anything like it before. Whoever conceived this idea must possess a vast amount of technical know-how. Is it possible your friend built this?"

“I don’t recall Joey being a technician, just an art grad who wanted to show his creations to the world. He could have designed this thing himself, but he couldn't have built it. Unless he secretly majored in engineering, I don’t know.”

Henry then peered back to the entrance (an archway) to find Hazel standing in the middle of it, ready to go. "Where are you going?"

"To look around more, of course," she responded with an eager expression, her pen behind her ear. "I'd like to find out what this machine was used for. If you wish to join me, you may, though I doubt you will find information collecting interesting."

Henry glanced at the machine with a twinge of concern over what he and Hazel may have been getting themselves into. "Are you sure that's a good idea? Something doesn't seem about that machine."

"I doubt a piece of technology that hasn't been used in thirty years would be capable of causing mayhem. Man-made machines are only as deadly as their users. So while it may have stirred up trouble in the past, I don't think it will now. What's the worst that can happen? Come on, we have nothing to worry about. We'll be fine."

"Y-yeah," hesitated Henry, some of his underlying worries settling back down. "Yeah you're right. We'll be fine."

*** 

**_"At this point, I don't get what Joey's plan is for this company. The animations sure aren't being finished on time anymore, and I certainly don't know why we need this machine. It's noisy, it's messy and who needs that much ink anyway?_ **

**_Also, get this. Joey had each one of us donate something from our work stations. We put them on these little pedestals in the break room. To help appease the Gods, Joey says. Keep things goin'._ **

**_I think he's lost his mind, but, hey, he writes the checks. But I tell ya what, if one more of these pipes burst, I'm outta here."- Wally Franks._ **

A soft collective whispered from the darkness, unable to be detected by the standard human cochlea. A hivemind of the lost, all they could do was wait for their release from the purgatory they had called home for as long as they could remember, despite the memories of their past lives being completely and ultimately shattered.

"Oh my God," Henry felt his stomach starting to churn, the sight of a mutilated Boris the Wolf turning him sick. "Joey, what were you doin'?"

"How in the world is this possible?" Hazel reached out to the deceased being, using one hand to cover her mouth from shock. It seemed almost unreal, how something that was once seen as a form of entertainment was now reduced to a sickening shell of its former self. "This isn't natural...this is far from being natural."

_ Me and my big mouth. _

The fictional character was held down on a table, his ribcage showing. The spot where his heart should have been was filled by a wrench, his eyes marked out in the traditional cartoonish way of crosses. Remembering her duty and retrieving the tool, Hazel inspected it closely. 

"This wrench couldn't have been used in such a heinous way; rather it would be something of a much sharper description, some form of knife or other pointed weaponry. However, it isn't the placement of the wrench that I find odd; it's how what or whoever did this only appeared to want the heart of the victim. Strange, very strange indeed. Perhaps you would like to have some input on this, Henry. Henry? Is something the matter?"

"Huh? Sorry, did you say something?"

Hazel sighed; repeating herself was not something she particularly liked. "I said maybe you would like to have some input on the situation. Do pay attention, I wouldn't wish for anything to happen to you because of your inability to listen."

"Hey, my hearing is perfectly fine, thank you!" retorted Henry, brows knitting together. Hazel psh'ed and folded her arms, rolling her eyes.

"Clearly." she then let out a long sigh, this type of behaviour was for people who had little to nothing else to do, her father would say. "Damn it all. Bickering isn't going to get us anywhere, it won't help me in my investigation and it certainly won't help you find your friend." she opened up her bag and dropped the wrench into it, pressing the button inward to secure the contents inside. Maybe it would come in handy for something. "Speaking of Mr Drew, I was told he didn't have exactly the best working relationships with people. Though since you were on good terms with him, I assume you knew your former working partner better than anyone else under his employ. It wouldn't surprise me if he viewed you as some sort of confidant, someone he could share his deepest thoughts and feelings with being rest assured knowing all of that would be kept between him and a person he trusted without question. Sound about right?"

Henry wasn't sure whether to nod or shake his head. He felt like it was somewhat his duty to answer whatever questions Hazel had, she was a qualified detective after all and her mannerisms made it clear that she was a professional who was set on getting the job done. To prevent any trouble, he chose not to answer, a change in his tone making his choice clear.

"I'd rather not answer that."

Hazel wasn't intimidated by the sudden switch of voice, instead, her inquisitive side taking control. Though, she could sense there was something off about how Henry was currently behaving. "Henry, if you know something that could help me then I need to know. Please, don’t feel like you can’t speak up-"

Henry's fist clenched, he didn't have to explain something personal like that to a person he'd just met, private detective or not. "I said I'd rather not answer that, alright? Please, just drop it."

Hazel knew when enough was enough and took a step back, riling up a man of Henry's stature definitely didn't seem like the brightest of ideas. About to make her way into the next room, she spotted a door. It was simple. If Henry wouldn't even try answering her questions, then she would find out what they were on her own. 

She would not be deterred, not by Henry's decision to keep quiet or his outburst. She nodded, taking acknowledgement in her mistake. It was important to have respected boundaries between two individuals, especially those who had only just met. "Very well then. I apologise for upsetting you. I shall give you a moment to calm down; you look as though you could use it. I'll be in the next room; maybe I will be able to find something in there."

Henry opened to speak, but closed it and shook his head. What did he have to apologise for? He'd done nothing wrong. If anything, it was that red head's fault for putting pressure on him like that in the first place. His blood went from boiling to simmering, bubbling gently at a lukewarm temperature. He could feel his veins pulsing and hands trembling ever so slightly, a breath sending coolness over him like a soothing wave. It was just what he needed to return to his original mood. 

Hazel was already hard at work in the other room, searching every desk for anything that could be of any use. She came across an ink jar with a while skull-and-crossbones marked on each side, dried ink sticking underneath the rim of the fragile pot and on its neck, forming a little Hershey Kiss-shaped splodge once it had reached the rounded top. Inside of the bottle was a white pen with a tinted end.

_ What peculiar markings for an inkwell. Either it was a way of warning employees not to consume the ink inside or it means something much darker. I’d like to think it’s the former, though after seeing the body of a real-life cartoon wolf, I’m going to put all of my bets on this also being the work of the wanker that is Joey Drew. Don’t worry, Uncle Flynn, I’ll make sure to give him an arse kicking for you if I find him. _

"Find anything?” 

Hazel's heart jumped, startled by the sudden question. She let out a quick scream, dropping the inkwell which would have smashed into pieces had Henry not caught it in time.

“Sorry about that. Did I scare you?” he apologised, eyes on her. She had her hand on her heart, giving it two short taps and exhaling, her lips showing a slight quiver.

“Scare is a bit of an overstatement, Mr Munroe- I mean, Henry. I was simply taken by surprise, that’s all.” said Hazel, trying to play it cool and pretend she hasn't been petrified. She fixed her hat and breathed, holding her head high. “In regards to your question, yes, I did find something. It's the jar you caught just now.”

“What’s so odd about an ink pot?” Henry studied the inkwell, he didn't see anything else other than a breakable item that was capable of holding fluid. His perspective then changed when he saw the skeletal paintwork on the bottle. “Oh. Yeah, yeah i’d see why you’d find that interesting. Don’t think skulls and crossbones are supposed to be on these things. It’s a little spooky.”

“We are in agreement.” nodded Hazel, finding the peculiarity a bit unsettling. “First we see a dissected cartoon and now it appears that there are items scattered around the studio. It makes me come to the conclusion that these objects are meant to be used for something, perhaps to fully activate the Ink Machine. Of course, this is all just a basic hypothesis unless I find something that could back it up further. Though it would seem rather odd for all of these things to just be conveniently placed if they didn’t serve some kind of purpose.”

She rubbed the side of her head in a circular motion, a sharp and brief pain making her suck air through her teeth. Her muscles tensed for a second, a sign that she was overthinking. Something she did often enough to be considered a habit. Though, when she put it like that, maybe it was more of an addiction rather than a bad practice.

“I’m fine.” reassured Hazel, brushing it off and going on to massage her temples. “Nothing to worry about. My head just can’t process information like it used to. One of the downsides of getting old, I suppose.”

“Old? No, you can’t be-”

“I’m two years away from being fifty, dear.” remarked Hazel, wittily. “The unmistakable aches and pains, not being able to remember things as well as you used to, your mobility slowing down even if it is ever so slightly. I would consider that a sign of aging. It’s something that hits all of us, eventually. As inconvenient it may be, it is inevitable.”

Henry examined the lady, trying to find some sort of indication that she was lying. She had to have been, she couldn’t have been forty eight. She looked much too youthful, like she had so much more life left within her. Whatever she was doing to take care of herself, it was certainly working.

_ Well I’ll be damned... _

“Right then,” started Hazel, prepared to move on. “Now that’s all out in the open, shall we proceed further?”

Henry desperately wanted to say no. He wanted to get away from this place and go back to work, forget what this day had brought with it and carry on with his life, however monotonous it was. But, he had a duty to fulfil as a law following citizen to help a person of authority, he couldn’t just leave Hazel all by herself in a dangerous part of town, especially not in a treacherous place that he once considered his pride and joy. It was decided.

He was going to stay and face whatever he had to head on. 


	7. Moving Pictures (Part 2)

Henry and Hazel stood in questioning, being met with a room which housed a giant switch in the back of it as well as six pedestals, three on both the left and right sides. Said pedestals had framed images situated above them on the walls, cased in black frames. Hazel took the first few steps, Henry carefully following her lead and quickly looking back in the direction he had came before focusing on what he could see in front of him.

“Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six. Six pedestals and six images.” counted the woman quietly, using her finger. “Each image appears to represent an item of sorts, and if the items we already have are linked with all of this, then we just need the other four, then we can use that switch to activate the machine. Do you have the inkwell, Henry?”

Without a word Henry put the ink pot on the correct pedestal, a small glow coming from the platform as it pressed down. The same outcome happened when Hazel placed the wrench on its appropriate place, the other pillars remaining lightless and dull.

“Don’t you find it bizarre how this whole setup looks like one big sacrificial offering?” asked the man, the sight a bit out of the ordinary for his liking.

“Perhaps Mr Drew was a man of non-mainstream interests.” Hazel reasoned, her expression implying she was in a state of thinking. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he was, there are plenty of artists both young and old who enjoy the  outré- that’s unusual, to you and I . Must help get the creative juices flowing somehow.”

“Nothing scary got my inspiration going, that’s for sure, but then again, different artists like different things. So, are we gonna find those other items?”

Hazel allowed herself to nod. “Seems like our only option for now, I won’t get any closer to figuring out what happened if we do not turn on this contraption and see how it works. Every piece of information I get from this investigation is vital. I made a promise to my client that I would do as much as I can, for the sake of her and others. If the worst has happened to their loved ones, which between you and me I imagine it happened long ago and the chances of anyone still being alive is very slim, it will then give them the chance to mourn properly for those that they have lost. The pain of losing someone you hold so dear...I cannot even begin to fathom how they feel.”

“Determined and compassionate. I like it.” Henry said approvingly. “No wonder your client put so much faith in you. If you believe finding those items is the best option we have, then I trust you, Detective.”

“Feel free to call me a narcissist but, what can I say?” shrugged Hazel, being a little coy. “I’m good at what I do. Your help has been more than enough so far, having someone around who is familiar with this place is a bonus. Why, I imagine I would have gotten lost within the first few minutes of being here had you not been by my side to assist me and point me in the right direction.”

She clapped her hands together, rubbing them before letting them fall at her sides. “Alright then, there’s no point in wasting valuable time, let’s split up and find those remaining items. Two heads always do work better than one, we’ll find them in no time. Remember to keep your wits about you, you can never be too careful in buildings that have long since been abandoned.”

“Don’t need to worry about that, I have my wits about me all the time.” Henry grabbed Hazel’s coat from his shoulders and pulled it off, handing it back to her. “Here. I’m not cold anymore so you can have it back.”

“Oh. Thank you.” she took it from him in a mannerly fashion and put it on herself, leaving the first button undone. “I hope it was of sufficient use to you, despite it not being the correct size.”

“It did its job for the most part. I’m gonna get goin’, sooner we find those things the better.”

“Best of luck.”

***

Stepping down a teeny set of stairs, Hazel stumbled with a brief and startled cry. She muttered something under her breath, the heels of her shoes not ideal ones for walking down staircases. Perhaps cushioning them with blister pads would have been a good idea before venturing outside.

_ Bloody Hell, Mother,  _ she thought as she concluded where she was. It was a mini theatre, with chairs lined up in the front and back of the room. A projector was positioned on a stand, seemingly not having been used in some time.  _ How on Earth did you wear these in your day? In the wrong situation, they could be a death trap. _

“This must have been where the finished cartoons were shown.” she finalised, studying the showroom. “Seems like they were only intended for a limited audience, there isn't much space in here.”

In the corner of her eye, Hazel spotted the needed Bendy plushie and picked it up, giving it a quick squeeze. It surprised her when it squeaked, it was more like something you would give to a playful canine rather than to the intended target audience, which wasn't hard to guess were children. That grin though...it certainly wasn't a present the detective would have put on her Christmas list. It was downright creepy. Nevertheless, she placed the doll into her bag.

Although the feeling was odd, she couldn't shake off the suspicion that someone or something was watching her, though like the sceptic she was she brushed off the feeling and carried on scouting the theatre, seeing if there was anything else of significance that she could look at. A shelf scattered with cans of what appeared to be soup peaked Hazel's interest next, it seemed odd that that they were even there to begin with. Wouldn't edibles, tinned or not, be normally kept in the kitchen?

Wanting to get a better look to confirm what she was seeing, she grabbed one of the nearby chairs and used it as a stool, standing on it. It wobbled underneath her, though she soon caught her balance and sighed in relief. The chair continued to move unsteadily, only allowing her to get two cans before the platform gave way under her and caused her to fall. She fell on her behind with an audible yelp and a groan, the canned food colliding to the floor with a thud.

“Fuck!” she swore, not caring if anyone could hear her or not. “Damn it all, if I keep falling like this, I'm going to need a total hip replacement before I'm completely old and grey. Whoever thought it was a good idea to make a shelving unit like this clearly did not have smaller people in mind at the time.”

She huffed, using the seat she had just fallen from to get herself back up. She dusted off her coat and took her hat off to fix her hair, securing the pins holding it up further into place before returning the fedora to its rightful position on the top of her head.

“Oh well, what's done is done. At least Henry and I won't starve should we find ourselves in need of something to eat. Not sure how safe it is to consume soup that has been here for over thirty years, but I guess we shall find out once it happens.” she referred to the cans of soup, studying one of them further. “Briar Label Bacon Soup, ey? Looks like the Bendy cartoons really were a success if they got their own line of food. No doubt it was a ploy to get more money from the public on both parties, corporate bastards.”

The Brit closed her eyes, calming herself down before she dived head first into a full-on rant about how she hated big business entities. She focused her mind on the current situation and breathed, her sights being filled with colour once more as the darkness disappeared. “Let’s not stray away from the assignment now, Hally, there are much more important things to think about right now. You have been bestowed an important task, one that must be taken seriously and treated with the utmost respect. Allowing personal emotions to get in the way will only slow things down, as Father always advises, I will have to remain strong if I want continued success in this career.”

Yet although her words were coming from a professional point of view, over recent years Hazel had begun to question the true accuracy of her father’s philosophy. Was it as right as she had led herself to believe? Perhaps, there were some lies hidden within the truth of Michael Wainwright’s credo. Pushing the notion to the back of her mind, there was a sudden click and the quick flash of the projector light. It was the unanticipated noise that spawned a sense of trepidation within the female, her instinct being to turn her head, where right in front of her there was an animated projection of the Little Devil Himself dancing on the screen. Her blood soon ran cold, her heart thumping like a drum unsympathetically against her chest, her face lined with fear.

_ What is this? What in God’s name is going on? _

It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together that there was an unnatural force at work, not the practical jokes of menacing teenagers or grown men and women who had yet found the meaning of adulthood. Whatever it was, it made it clear that it was intending to frighten her. Hazel knew she had to be the bigger person, to give into fear was not something she was known for- it wasn’t something the Wainwrights were known for.

“I warn you,” she spoke out, determined to power through the scare and positioning herself into a fighting stance and raising her fists. “I know self-defence and will not hesitate to defend myself should I feel the need to do so. I would not suggest trying anything because believe me, I will make sure you regret it.”

Not a voice nor distant whisper responded, the detective wanting to think she was just being paranoid. The flickering of the light was beginning to hurt her eyes, her efforts to shield them proving to be fruitless. She noticed a valve panel and reached out to touch it, turning it with all her might. To her shock, ink began to flood the room and she rushed to make her exit. Hazel put her back against a wall, placing one hand on her heart and taking deep breaths so that she could recover from what had just happened.

_ I wonder if Henry has had better luck? I best make my return, he may have already found the items we need. _

In the meantime, Henry was finishing up placing the knick-knacks he had found onto their pedestals, the same dim luminessence shining as the stands pushed downwards. Afterwards, he stepped back and viewed each item, not saying a word. Instead, he communicated with his thoughts. Nothing about this was making any sense, it seemed as though he had been put into some kind of amnesiac state and his time at the studio was just bits and pieces, it had been that way for years. He was only able to remember key things like Joey's mistreatment of him and the other workers and certain traits his ex-colleagues had, such as the narcissistic attitude of the Music Director, Sammy Lawrence or the cocky ways of the janitor, Wally Franks.

Whatever standpoint he chose to see it from, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Henry’s memory had been messed up by his persistent overindulgence, damage of which could not be fixed by even the greatest of treatments. He breathed out in the form of a heavy sigh, raising his hand to his hair and running it through the thick barnet.

“There,” said Hazel, adding sound to the noiseless breakroom when she put the Bendy doll on it’s post. “That’s all of them.” she got dust off of her gloves in a one-two swiping motion. “I commend your efforts, Henry. As I said, two heads always do work better than one. Henry?”

The Briton didn’t get a reply, and when she observed Henry’s facial expression it only made her frown. The man seemed to be unsettled, and it was fair to assume that it was because of a host of different things. “Are you all right? It appears as though something is troubling you. Would you like to tell me what it is?”

Henry only shook his head and approached the Ink Machine switch, the action alone enough for Hazel to get an answer. Taking the way he was acting into account, it caused her suspicions that the former cartoonist was hiding something to escalate further.

“Very well then, Mr Munroe. Though I must tell you, you will only have to answer to the police once I give them my findings. Lucky, I have come prepared. I will be able to back my statements up with photographic evidence, I shall not allow them to use me of being a liar.” she opened up her bag, producing a Kodak Retina Automatic camera from the leather holder and positioning it at the correct angle before she took her first shot, repeating the process as she obtained three more photographs. “That should be enough in here. I think that switch is ready to be pulled now, all we can do is hope the outcome of doing so will actually turn up something useful. When you’re ready.”

Henry held onto the lever’s handle and pulled it from the top to the bottom. When he did this, the area turned dark and a chilling ambiance captured everything within its clutches, briefly alarming the two. All around the grinding of thirty year old machinery pressing together in unity could be heard, they were long-overdue a good oiling (or so it seemed). Although their surroundings were poorly lit they still had a rough idea of where each pathway led to, though for safety reasons both decided to stay close. The smaller female followed the giant of a man back to the Ink Machine room to find that the entrance had been bordered up and there were ink prints on the floor.

“What the hell?” Henry titled his head to the side, bewildered by what he was seeing. “That’s strange. Pretty sure these weren’t here before.”

“It is uncanny, yes.” conquered Hazel, taking two steps closer to the wooden planks and reaching out cautiously. “Hang on, I’ll see if I can get a closer look.”

Before she even had time to touch the timber, an immense and petrifying body of ink popped out from behind the boards, his arm trying to grab at what was on the other side. It resembled that of the Little Devil Darlin’ with its horns and toothy grin, only it was malformed, and its skin was more like tar rather than what is used to draw or write with. The top half of its head was melted and obscured its eyes, evidently making it blind. The adults let out horrified shrieks, turning back to get away from the threat and running as fast as their legs would permit. Shutters collapsed to the floor, ink oozing from every crevice they could see. The exit was so close yet so far away, it was a relief to see the door in which they had used to enter the studio- though the comfort was short-lived, sad to say.

There would only be more screams as Henry and Hazel fell down a giant gap, which had covered by the large leakage of ink. They fell a good distance before hitting the ground, their sight becoming blurred from a brewing concussion. Their ears rang with a low and constant hum, dulling out when their senses had come back to them.

“Ah shit.” cussed Henry, looking to his right. “Hey Shorty, you okay?”

At a glance, it appeared Hazel was having trouble moving, using a quivering arm to support herself. She struggled, falling back down to her original lying position with a pained cry. The discomfort was becoming more apparent, manifesting into a throbbing sensation.

“It’s Detective or Hazel to you, sir.” she said after recovering, resuming her attempts of getting up. “I would appreciate it if you refrained from calling me a name such as ‘Shorty’. And to answer your question, yes, I am fine. Perfectly so, might I add.” like the previous time, she was unsuccessful. “Ow, God damn.”

Henry went on to make a face, steadily managing to get to his feet despite the hurt that was trying to consume him. He neared Hazel, getting down to her level and offering his hand. She at first studied what he was doing, her mind trying to figure out some purpose of his actions.

”Don’t push yourself, you’re only gonna make whatever is hurting you worse. Being stubborn also isn’t gonna help, you need help so here it is.”

Hazel suspired, knowing that on this occasion she would have to accept defeat. She took Henry’s hand, the size difference more than noticeable. The fellow again asked about her wellbeing, seeing the continuous tremor.

“Damn, that doesn’t look too good. You think you’ll be able to walk?”

“Yes, yes I think so. Nothing feels out of place so; I couldn’t have broken it. Must just be a bruise. I’ll be fine, believe me I have experienced much worse than this before.”

_ Just my luck,  _ thought Wainwright.  _ Just my fucking luck. This is what happens when you let temptation get the better of you. It lands you in the shitter. Now there’s some creature on the prowl that will likely kill us all because of me and my stupid idea to turn on that machine. Way to go, you knobhead. _

Henry set both hands on his hips, coming to a decision. “Well, there’s only one thing that we can do now, and that’s press on. See if we can find a way out of here. The way forward is not gonna be easy, but we have to try.”

“Giving up isn’t an option.” Hazel adds on, standing as straight as she possibly could and powering through the sharp affliction. “As you said, we have to try. The way forward will not be easy, you are correct, though we cannot allow ourselves to lose to whatever forces are at work here. To submit to terror is a form of weakness, to submit to anything when there is a fighting chance is a weakness. With our own individual like my intelligence and your strength, we are in with a chance of getting out of here alive. This isn’t just a simple visit anymore; it is a fight for our survival. We will have to work together, defend ourselves from what may wish to cause us harm. I did not ask you formally earlier, I do hope you can forgive my tardiness, but will you help me to help you?”

If it was any other time, Henry would have had to have contemplated the request. He had already reasoned that helping in Hazel’s investigation was the correct thing to do, not expecting that they would end up becoming tangled in a thirty-year web of mystery. Nonetheless, this proposal seemed to be the most logical in his mind. By combining the strongest aspects of themselves together, they had an opportunity to find a way out and go back to their normal lives, returning to those they cared for the most. The solution had been found.

A shop assistant and an operative, two people that met at first in normal circumstances and barely knew anything about one another, were now beginning a journey that would determine whether they lived or died.

“Help me to help you.” repeated Henry, nodding to answer. “Alright, Red, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

To finalise their agreement, Mr Munroe and Miss Wainwright shook hands. Henry then provided his support; it was clear Hazel needed the help and that her leg wasn’t going to stop hurting anytime soon so they were just going to have to deal with whatever came at them in the meantime.

“Thank you, Henry.”

“No problem, Detective.”

***

**_“It’s dark and it’s cold and it’s stuck behind wall now. In some places, I swear this godforsaken ink is clear up to my knees! Whoever thought that these crummy pipes could hold up under this kind of strain either knows something about ink pressure I don’t, or he’s some kind of idiot. But the real worst part about all this are the them noises the system makes. Like a dying dog on its last legs. Make no mistake, this place...this machine...heck, this whole darn thing. It just isn’t natural. You can bet, I won’t be doing any more repair jobs for Mister Joey Drew.”- Thomas Connor._ **


	8. The Old Song (Part 1)

**“So first, Joey installs this ink machine over our heads. Then it begins to leak. Three times last month we couldn’t even get out of our department because the ink had flooded the stairwell. Joey’s solution? An ink pump to drain it periodically. Now I have this ugly pump switch right in my office. People in and out all day. Thanks, Joey. Just what I needed. These stupid cartoon songs don’t write themselves; you know.”- Sammy Lawrence.**

***

The duo stopped at a stairway, the bottom of it being covered by a huge pool of thick ink. Hazel’s leg was still hurting from the fall, but she tries to remain positive despite the very visible obstacle. Henry was trying to figure out a way that the ink could be drained, there had to be something that could do the job.

“Stay here,” said Henry, looking at Hazel before turning his attention back to the stairs. “I’m gonna go and investigate.”

Hazel went to protest. Since when was he in charge? Sighing, she relented and nodded. “Alright. Be careful.”

Cautiously and slowly, Henry walks down the wooden panels, checking for loose boards as he did so. His clothes become stained as he descends into the ink, though it didn’t appear to faze him at all. He locates a pressure valve and turns it, the ink draining. This would repeat itself until Henry drained more ink and located a door on the last floor, opening it and looking around before confirming to himself that it was safe. Using all her might and proceeding with caution, Hazel used the wall for support and made her way down to where her partner was. She followed Henry, who had found an axe lying on a workstation.

The room the two had found themselves in wasn’t anything spectacular. Text reading  **“THE CREATOR LIED TO US.”** covered the centre of the left wall, a bucket of empty black paint (or ink) was close to it, whatever liquid that was left inside having dried up after not being used. There was a way forward ahead, but it was blocked by wooden boards. Other assets included a barrel and what appeared to be a power switch of sorts.

“This will definitely come in handy,” he told her, holding the newly acquired weapon with ease. “Looks like there’s a way forward up ahead. How you holdin’ up?”

“I’m fine,” replied Hazel, avoiding showing signs of pain. “As I’ve said, nothing I can’t handle. Part and parcel of being a detective, old chap. Danger is always afoot even if you can’t recognise it, and you must always expect the unexpected.”

Examining the writing, she took out her trusty notebook and pen and made notes on a clean page. The styles matched to the other ones she and Henry had found. Taking a few step backs, she opted to get a photograph, getting pictures from three separate angles.

“Might be best to be careful with your camera. The flash could trigger that... _ thing.  _ One wrong move and we’re as good as dead. We gotta keep moving forward, find a way to get out of here. Whatever Joey wanted to show me; he can kiss my ass if he thinks I’m stickin’ around. Fuck, Mrs Flanagan is gonna kill me when she finds out I lied to her. I’m gonna be fired and I’ll be left without a job and then I won’t be able to pay my rent and I’ll end up having to move out of my apartment and I’ll be living on the streets like a hobo-”

“Breathe, Henry.” Hazel soothed, not wanting him to get worked up. “You cannot think about those things right now; we have to remain as level-headed as we possibly can. I know that’s going to be hard given the circumstances, but we can’t allow ourselves to fall off the focus wagon so easily. We must keep our attention to our current situation. Just breathe, alright?”

Henry inhaled and exhaled, doing this twice until he was sure he was relaxed. He smiled. “Hey, that actually worked. Thanks. Come on, let’s go.”

Hazel nodded, watching as the planks were chopped down swiftly with the hatchet. The way Henry was able to pierce the material, it showed prior experience with such a tool. When the way was clear, they walked through and were met with yet another door, the entrance being obstructed by more hardwood. Cutting it down, the venture was smooth until sensations of uneasiness began to overwhelm the duo, images blurring and twisting together so fast in front of them that they didn’t have the time to comprehend what it was that they were actually seeing, different sounds rang in their eardrums as loud as bells that chimed at the hour. Their minds were put into a frenzy, battling to stay conscious till everything faded into nothing but the colour of the ink that had claimed the studio.

***

Shifting between consciousness and unconsciousness, Hazel raised a hand to her head and groaned, waiting for everything to stop spinning. She fought to get up, close to losing her footing and falling sideways. Getting her bearings and ignoring the ringing in her ears, she examined her surroundings and was spooked to be met face to face with two coffins. She screamed, jumping back in shock. With a shaky arm, she reached out to touch the caskets only to hesitate at the last minute. As tempting as it may have been, she really didn’t want to see what was inside them. That is if they contained anything at all.

_ Just what kind of madman are you, Joey Drew? _

It didn’t take her long to notice Henry was out for the count, which as far as she was concerned was not a good thing. A quick nudge with her foot was all she needed to wake him, he awoke within a few seconds, his head hurting from when it had made contact with the ground.

“Ugh, my head. What happened?” he regained his composure, briefly covering his eyes with a single hand before taking it away again and getting up. Hazel wasn’t sure how to respond to his question until she looked down and saw there was a pentagram-like symbol painted on the floorboards. Upon closer inspection, she concluded that it had some sort of religious meaning. “Maybe it had something to do with this? Now I would normally believe mysteries can be explained in a more humane way, though given what this symbolises, I have no doubt in my mind that something inhuman did, in fact, occur here. Perhaps people were right to speculate supernatural causes after all. We should continue to press on, see if we can find an alternative way back to the first level. There has to be another route somewhere."

The axe returned to Henry's possession once more, despite him still adjusting to wakefulness. Finding a way out, he and Hazel egressed from the current room and found themselves situated in the entrance of another. They began to move with caution, dim candlelight seemingly expecting their arrival as they reached the end. What awaited them was a baffling scene, some kind of shrine had been put together, unidentifiable objects were submerged in bowls of ink and a mixture of wet and dry wax stuck to the candles. Below a curved pipe, a disturbing mantra and a miniature Bendy cut-out co-existed with one another. A banjo situated next to the fane remained untouched, having no real reason for being there in the first place.

**“HE WILL SET US FREE.”**

_ He will set us free? What,  _ Hazel thought, absolutely boggled.  _ What does that mean? Who will set who free? Is it possible this and the previous writings were written by the same person? A group maybe? Henry and I can’t be the only living people here, this is proof that there are more. That means...it’s possible Mr Lawrence could be alive after all, despite my previous judgement. Poor things, being down here all alone for thirty years, with no way of contacting the outside world for assistance. So very sad. _

To the right, more candles had been set aflame, their fires burning easily. Chairs were situated in casual and near quirky positions, with promotional posters and other property belonging to the company placed all around. Ample ink leaked from a nook, the dribbling sound as it struck the floor intelligible. Another pair of coffins and an occult symbol spooked Henry and Hazel, this was the second time they had seen something like this now and a gut instinct was warning them that stranger things were to come and that they had to leave as soon as they possible could. Every impulse, screaming at them from different parts of their minds. It was impossible to shut them out completely, but to ignore it all would doable for the time being. 

They reached an aisle, swamped with the devil’s liquor. It smelled disgusting and even with so much of it being around, adjusting to the scent of strong solvent and chemicals was not going to be easy. Detritus was scattered throughout the walkway, though the path was relatively straight forward. Henry went first, going at a slow pace. Hazel pursued; the darkness cold against her clothing. It wasn’t ideal nor was it pleasing, but it would only be temporary. Just until they got to the other side.

_ “Sheep, sheep, sheep, it’s time for sleep. Rest your head, it’s time for bed…” _

A towering shape holding what looked like to be a Bendy cut-out, chanted in a sinister whisper. They didn’t notice Henry or Hazel, too preoccupied with whatever it is their focal point was on. They wore overalls that were stained at the ankle and shiny boots, with no sign of a shirt to cover the top half of their body. Their face was hidden by what seemed to be a mask, but it was too difficult to make out for sure.

“Hello?” called out Henry, hoping he’d be able to get the person’s attention before they went out of view. “Excuse me, can you help us? We’re trapped down here and- huh? Where the hell did they go?”

He had taken the words right out of Hazel’s mouth; she too was addled at where the stranger could have gotten to. A wonky shelving unit was filled to the brim with bacon soup cans, enough to feed a person for a considerable period. On closer examination, an activation switch with a circular light glowed, meaning that there was still power going to it. Pushing away the metal tins, Hazel inspected the switch with a mild reluctance to use it. The Ink Demon could be right around the corner, waiting for either one of them to slip up and make a fatal move so he could do whatever evil deed he desired. Though, if she didn’t do anything, there would be no chance of anything improving. Flicking the control upwards, she was quickly alerted by Henry of a new discovery he had made. There was a gate operator with three sphere-shaped bulbs, two out of the three blinked on and off in a repeated pattern.

“Whatever you did back there worked in turning the gate’s power supply on, now we just have to get more power to it somehow. There should be some switches nearby,” theorised Henry, leaning sideways and keeping himself supported with one arm using the top of a barrel, the axe lying on top of it. “Maybe then we’ll be able to open it. I’ll go look around; it’ll be quicker that way-”

“As much as I appreciate your chivalrous approach, Henry,” Hazel cut in, not wanting to seem ungrateful but she knew she had to say something. “It would not be fair for you to do all the work. I’m able to move, despite my injury. I’ll look and you stay here, I shouldn’t need to go far.”

“But what if that monster comes back? I really don’t think it’s a good idea to-”

Hazel put her foot down, snatching the axe from its resting place and turning back towards where she and Henry had come without saying another word. Her actions left him stunned and, if he was thinking of the correct term, a bit awestruck. There was no time to insist or oppose the decision, she had made it apparent that she wasn’t asking for his approval in the matter. Before he could even conceive the idea of going after her, she had come back. The other two electric bulbs shone along with the already lit one, and Hazel had already pushed the lever that would open the entry.

The ground vibrated as the barrier opened its metallic mouth, pushing on when they were sure they would be out of harm’s way. Boards were broken with the help of their trusty friend.

“It’s really dark in here.” Henry pointed out; he wasn’t sure where they had landed up. His memory of the studio was hazy, no doubt due to his not-so-healthy usage of what he referred to as ‘The Good Stuff’. Somehow, he found comfort in the idea of not being able to remember fully. He was a man of multiple regrets. 

“Yes, it is.” said Hazel, half of her regard elsewhere. It was quiet- a bit  _ too _ quiet. “A light source should be somewhere; we will have to locate it. Otherwise we'll be tripping over our feet and I don't think splinters are what either of us want. Sneaky little buggers, they are. You think there would have been better maintenance for such a well-known establishment, it wouldn't shock me if anyone decided to file a complaint about their working conditions, sure know I would have if I were in their shoes. I believe it is always appropriate to keep something as mandatory as light in dark places close by, for the convenience of others. Honestly, you’d think this place was run by bats-”

The darkness coating the expanse was instantaneously shooed away with brightness. It took Hazel’s eyes a split second to adjust, but once they had, all was well. Henry reappeared by her side, the latter not noticing that he had even left to begin with. 

“You were saying?” Henry lent a smirk, the tool that had made wood splinter in fear before it would meet its end in hand.

Hazel was uncertain of how the man had managed to go undetected and return without a peep. She expressed surprise, then confusion before giving a shake of her head. No time was available to ask silly questions, speculation had to be saved for the more important things. "Alright, alright. Maybe I rambled on a bit there. Good work, Henry. Did you find anything of interest?”

“I did, but...” paused Henry, hesitant. “You want the good news or the bad news?”

“Preferably the good news. Go on.”

Henry briefly glanced over his shoulder, then turned back. “Good news is, there’s an exit that should lead us out of here. The bad news is, the stairwell that leads to it is completely flooded. We’ll have to find a way to drain it.”

_ Of course,  _ thought Hazel.  _ Of bloody course _ .  _ Just when something seems to be looking up, there’s always that one thing that must throw everything else off kilter. Why did I have to choose today of all days to come here?  _

“Well, that’s what we will have to do. Drain the stairwell and hope for the best-”

A black blob dropped from the ceiling, and from it came a humanoid creature made entirely of ink. It had a flexible body, elongated arms and their lower half seemed to melt into a puddle of the rich goop. Their faces were ghoulish, human-like with gaping mouths and indentations of where eyes should have been. It was like something out of a horror production. Duplicates of the monsters popped out, the workman and the detective ready to defend themselves at whatever cost. Hazel cracked her knuckles and Henry had already gone in for the attack, hitting one of the Searchers in its head and going straight for another one as it outstretched its limbs to try and grab him. It was like an inclination had overcome him, making him behave in a way he had not done in an extensive amount of time.

Hazel had attempted to whack a Searcher with her shoe, but to no avail. She shrieked as one nearly got her but with a strong swing Henry took it down, precision on his side. Without any time to think, Hazel snatched the weaponry from Henry’s grasp and killed more of the monsters, using her brains and brawn to time her manoeuvres exactly. With force, she struck the last Searcher, standing in place as she caught air.

“I think that’s the last of ‘em.” Henry broke the ice, sensing there was tension. "What even were they?"

“Not even I know.” said Hazel, still a bit out of breath. She rubbed her shoulder blade and rotated it, bones cracking as the pressure released from then. "But whatever they were, they appear to have gone. Do you have any idea where we are?”

“The Music Department.” Henry indicated, pointing to a decorated wall using his thumb. “I never came down here, didn’t have the time or need to. All I know is that here is where Sammy and his crew spent most if not all their time, from what I heard they were a decent bunch of people. Sammy especially. He was a good man, a talented one at that.”

The wall consisted of the logo for the Music Department, with musical notes and records that had been painted on to accompany it. A Bendy face was painted behind a scroll-like border, ‘Music Department’ being stylised in capitals. Two speakers were stationed on both sides, with a Bendy cut-out on the right side. Underneath the emblem, ‘Director: Sammy Lawrence’ was written in a golden-yellow colour on a black background.

“Aha!” exclaimed Hazel, triumphant. She opened her journal, flipping through the pages until she got to the one she needed. “Perfect. Director of the music department. Goes by the nickname of Sammy, talented. I’m on the right track. I’ll definitely be able to find something about him here.”

“Wait...is this the real reason you came here? You came here to look for Sammy?”

Hazel bit her lower lip before submitting to what her conscious was telling her. “Normally I would stick to client confidentiality but seeing as we may be together for some time, I should be honest with you. It’s only right, keeping my mouth shut never ends well for me. I talked with Ms Phyllis Lawrence, Mr Lawrence’s aunt, while I was at the beach. She noticed that I was reading about the studio disappearances and said that she was able to help me if it was information I was looking for. She told me a bit about Sammy, what he was like and how she missed him. I promised her that I would do what I can to find out what happened to him, but I now realise he’s a piece in a much bigger puzzle. If there’s even a chance he’s alive…”

“He’s gotta be…” Henry did basic mathematics, counting on his fingers. “He’s gotta be fifty-seven or fifty-eight by now. Oh God, if he’s alive...the poor guy. He didn’t deserve this; nobody deserves any of this. They were human beings; they’ve been trapped here like animals. It’s degrading, i-it’s sick.”

“Then we have no time to waste.” Hazel dipped her hand into her coat pocket, getting the photographs. She put one onto her case sheet, the other she looked at apologetically and used it as a page marker. She saw that shutter doors had lifted, ready for anyone to go through. “Was that always open?”

“I dunno.” Henry shook his head with a shrug. “If it’s a way forward, then I don’t really care if it was open or closed beforehand. He walked through it, spotting Hazel was falling behind. “You coming, Red?”

Hazel groaned; she was going to lecture him again but decided that it wasn’t worth it. She nodded and began to follow. “Yes, yes, I’m coming. Christ, I hope no more of those nasty things show up. Think I’ve wielded a pointed weapon enough for one day.”

***

**“Every day the same strange thing happens. I’ll be up here in my booth; the band will be swinging and suddenly Sammy Lawrence just comes marching in and shuts the whole thing down. Tells us all to wait in the hall. Then I hear him. He starts up my projector, and he dashes from the projector booth like the little devil himself was chasing behind. Few seconds later, the projector turns off. But Sammy, he doesn’t come out for a long time. This man is weird. Crazy weird. I have half a mind to talk to Mr Drew about all this, I really do. But then again, I have to admit. Mr Drew has his own peculiarities.”- Norman Polk.**

  
  
  



	9. The Old Song (Part 2)

**_“It may only be my second month working for Joey Drew, but I can already tell I’m going to love it here! People seem to really enjoy my Alice Angel voice. Sammy says she may be as popular as Bendy someday. These past few weeks I've voiced everything from talking chairs to dancing chickens. But this is the first character I have really felt a connection with, like she’s a part of me. Alice and I, we’re going places.”- Susie Campbell._ **

***

Henry and Hazel had located the pump switch, the apparatus being inside a section of the studio belonging to the former music director. Above the outside window, there was a sign reading “Office of Sammy Lawrence: Music Department Director” in aged paint with an equally as mature arrow pointing to the entrance. 

“Well, there’s the pump switch alright,” said Henry, shaking ink off of him when it got into his skin. “But that’s one hell of a leak blocking the door though. If we could stop that ink from flowing, maybe we could get in."

"That seems like the most appropriate approach." Hazel agreed, gazing through the glass pane. Her mind began forming an image, imagining Sammy being hard at work creating new material for the cartoons, humming to a melody. It was all in black and white, given the information and the photographs she had received from Phyllis, picturing colour was impossible. Her daydream stopped abruptly and she scolded herself for getting distracted once again. She cleared her throat. "However, I don't see anything around here that could be capable of carrying out such a task. How would we actually stop the leak?"

"Maintenance isn't exactly my strong suit, I've only ever fixed shelves or done paint jobs here and there.” replied Henry, trying to concoct some sort of solution. “But if I’m remembering correctly, there should be something we could use. We should take a look around, see what we can find."

As Henry said this, Hazel found a storage closet and tried to open it. It was to no avail, it was locked tightly and without a key there was no way that she would be able to gain access. Knowing that attempting to search for the keys would waste time, she took off her hat and put it down onto the floor, reaching a hand to the back of her head and removing a pin from her bun.

“What are you doing?” asked Henry, wondering what the woman was trying to do. “It needs a key to open.”

“I can use my hair pin to pry open the lock.” Hazel explained, inserting the tiny piece of metal into the fastener and wiggling it around until she heard a click. Rising, she turned the doorknob and opened it to find a sparse assemblage of candles, a single sheet of paper trapped underneath one of the wax towers and another bowl of something that couldn’t be identified.

“Must have been the cleaner’s closet.” she hypothesised, unable to fathom why the cubby hole was so barren. “There’s nothing to suggest that this was assigned to someone of such a profession. No mops, no cleaning products, nothing. Bloody Hell, these oddities just keep adding up.”

She fitted her pin back into her hair and put her hat back on, closing the closet door. Henry sighed, quite disappointed at the discovery.

“Well that was a total bust.” he said, running a hand through his mop. “What do you wanna do now? Ain’t like we’re gonna find anything here.”

Hazel was at the brink of losing her marbles, tension and stress that had been piling up just about ready to erupt. “If I recall correctly, you are the one that used to work here. You should still know you way around at the very least.”

Henry clenched his fist, her words had stung him like a swarm of bees defending themselves from harm. “You think I wanna remember this place? Look, I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for my ex-best friend, alright? I would have quite happily ignored his letter and gone about my life.”

“Then why didn’t you? You’re a grown man, you can make your own decisions in life. You didn’t have to come here, you didn’t have to agree to helping me. Let me guess, the good old code of chivalry kicked in?”

Henry snapped, losing all the control he had. “Do me a favour and get off my dick, Red. I know coming here was a mistake, and now I just wanna get out of here! My boss is probably worried sick about me right about now. Tch, wouldn’t surprise me if you haven’t got anyone on the outside worrying about you, with the attitude ‘n’ all.”

Hazel gasped, her lips twisting into a scowl. “My personal life outside of my work has nothing to do with you! I do not have to stand here and take the bad temperament of an oaf. Perhaps making our arrangement was a mistake.”

“Yeah, perhaps it was.” Henry accepted, harshly at that. “Whatever, i’m done. I’ll find a way out on my own.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

The two go their separate ways, swearing under their breaths profanities that where more than inappropriate to say aloud. Regret was quick to set in on both ends, but at the remembrance of the words that had been exchanged their current emotions took back their place.

***

**_"Every artistic person needs a sanctuary. Joey Drew has his and I've got mine. To enter, you need only know my favorite song. Sing my song, and my sanctuary will open to you."- Sammy Lawrence._ **

The recording studio consisted of multiple chairs, stands with music sheets and various instruments. Microphones hung from the ceiling and a collection of papers were stuck together on the right wall. Framed pictures of music notes were pinned beside a screen, which would have been used to time the music to a particular scene.

“This is where the musical magic happened.” Hazel presumed, making sure she watched her footing as she stepped up onto the stage. She observed what she was seeing, coming to a logical conclusion. “The band would play here, and I assume Mr Lawrence would have stood there.” she used her finger to point. The echoing of music tingled her eardrums, the sight of musicians fulfilling their craft and the idea of the recording area being filled with song and people reading from scripts, it almost made her sad to see what things had become in recent times. She had to wonder, what were the worlds of these people like? What were their names? Were they young or were they old? Did they have anyone to love or anyone to love them in return? All of the questions she had made her realisations kick in sooner than she thought they would.

They were all people. Humans, just like her or anyone else inhabiting the earth surrounding them. Whether they were living or whether they had long since departed, whether they were remarkably good or whether they were downright horrible, they all had a story to tell. It was her job to make sure that the voices of the lost were heard if they could not be found, so that true justice could be served.

She proceeded to start humming as she took off her leather gloves and tucked them away safely in her bag. She pressed on the pedal of a drum, the sound it created deep and triumphant. Not expecting the noise, she jumped back in alarm. “Oh goodness. Silly me, it’s just an instrument. No need to be scared, Hazel, no need to be scared. It’s not as though that monster could- no, no, don’t get cocky. Remember that quote by Oscar Wilde:  _ ‘Confidence is good, but overconfidence always sinks the ship.’ _ ”

By chance, she found an access point closed off by shutters similar to the ones she had encountered earlier. She saw no sign of a button panel or switch and so resorted to some time of deep thinking. Coming up with an idea, she went back to the main stage.

“I wonder…”

Hazel played some of the instruments in a certain order and saw that the shutters were slowly starting to open, unveiling what was behind it. Approaching the passageway, she waited until it was safe to enter and resumed on, not heeding the warning of her conscience. Upon entering the sanctuary, she caught sight of some bass fiddles, broken shelves, scattered papers and cobwebs that had collected over time. Splats of ink where here and there, the setting becoming more bizarre the second she turned the next corner. There was a desk with a lit candle and a stool, with some of the wax having dripped and dried onto a piece of sheet music. Two more papers laid on the floor, a pentagram close by to the workstation and an out of commision toilet had ink filling the bowl. A ventilation system hung off-kilter with a dim light giving the place a feeble shine. Many of the previous occurrences already had Hazel questioning the wellbeing of the missing, but seeing another strange message sprawled on the wall prompted words.

**"SING A HAPPY SONG, WHISTLE A MERRY TUNE. WAIT FOR HIS ARRIVAL, HE'S COMING VERY SOON.”**

“What the fuck?” she examined the wording, shaking her head with a sigh. “God, none of this is making any sense. Coming up with a rational explanation at this rate is next to none. The religious symbols, the coffins...sacrificial offerings? Dammit, this is making my head hurt.”

Needing a minute, Hazel sat down on the stool to pull herself together and laid her head down on the desk, only to lift it again when she thought she heard whispers. She listened closely, before dismissing it all as nothing but a result of dehydration. She pulled out a bottle of water from her bag, drinking some of it and stopping when she’d had enough.

“I don’t understand...usually by now I’m able to collect bits and pieces but...this case is proving to be more of a challenge than I originally anticipated, and now that i’m stuck down here, now without a companion…”

Hating to admit it, the concept of loneliness was not one she wanted to conceive. Not right now, anyway. Maybe she should find Henry? Maybe she should apologise for how she acted? Though she remembered how mad he seemed in the moment, and she didn’t want to test the brobdingnagian while he was in that state. He could take her down faster than she could say her whole name. Sighing, she looks to her left. Attached to the wall, a piece of wood read ‘Flow’. Below it was two curved pipes and a straight one. A valve waiting to be turned looked at her in the eye. With a wounded cry, she got off the seat and turned it, wincing at the rusted squeak it made. She’d never been a fan of that din. She wasn’t sure what difference it would make, but she hoped it would provide a way for her to get out. Making time to add a description to her notebook, she spotted nothing else of use and her next course of action was to exit.

When a Bendy cutout came up out of the blue and scared her, she nabbed the nearest thing she could locate and held the end of it like a bat.

“Hello?” she pressed on cautiously, walking forward at a slow pace. “Someone there? I have to warn you, I’ve got a…” she quickly identify the item and continued with her speech. “Violin. I’m not afraid to use it should I need to.”

Ink puddles bubbled on the floor and before Hazel had any time to react, a group of searchers emerged from them and launched their attack. She screamed and fought them off, nearly getting grabbed by one before hitting it on it’s head. She kicked one in the same place, eyeing the incoming enemies angrily. Even though there was pain in her lower half, she had a drive to defend herself from the monsters and was determined to get out of this ordeal alive. Searcher after searcher, she lunged at the final one and stomped on it, sending it back from whence it came. Taking deep breaths, she leaned on a piano for support and felt the beat of her heart with her hand after throwing the violin away.

_ Now that was...an experience. _

Her attention brought upward, she spotted a similar looking humanoid figure staring down at her. Calling to it, she failed to get anything out of them. They simply stared, like they were waiting for her next move. The recording studio door then opened, Henry standing with his axe in hand. Seeing that Hazel was in a bad way, he provided her with help. He glared at the suspender wearing being for a moment before remembering what was more important. 

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry,” he apologised, different outcomes of how things could have turned out running through his mind. “I shouldn’t have left you alone like that. I let my stupid temper get in the way and I shouldn’t have.” he saw the black pools, not sure whether or not to be pleasantly surprised or even more afraid than he already was. “Did you take down those things all by yourself?”

“It wasn’t difficult.” Hazel brushed it off, fixing her posture. “Despite appearances, I can handle myself just fine...did you manage to get to that pump switch?”

“Yeah, I did.” answered Henry, positively. “We should be able to get out of here in no time. Come on, this way.”

Hazel nodded, accepting when Henry let her use him as a means of keeping her balance. Both were undoubtedly relieved, finally this horridness would be recalled as nothing but a bad dream. Right as they were making their way to the staircase, Henry fell to the ground without warning, having been knocked out cold.

“Henry!” Hazel cried out in concern, getting to her knees and desperately trying to wake him up. She shook his shoulder. “Come on, wake up! Wake up!” the same person she had seen before intended on making her their next target- well, that sure as Hell wasn’t going to happen. Dodging out the way and taking her only means for defense, she powered through the aching sensations in her body and got ready to brawl. Throwing her fedora and coat aside, she grabbed a fistful of hairpins and disregarded them to the wooden floorboards. Her opponent had a dustpan, prepared for whatever was going to come their way. From closer inspection, Hazel could make out a masculine frame and muscle, indicating that they were male. They were about six feet four inches tall and wore a cardboard Bendy shaped mask.

“How shameful of you,” she said, cracking her fingers. “Engaging in combat with a little lady like me. You clearly have no notion of what it means to be a gentleman. Nevertheless, if you wish for me to fight with you like a man, then it is a fight you shall receive! Put them up!”

Running towards each other head on, Hazel went straight for the chest and used the end of the axe to jab the assailant in his ribs. He was held off temporarily, but the attack didn’t appear to wind him like it would have done a regular person. Unfazed, he kept a tight grip of the cleaning tool and raised it.

“Is that all you’ve got, little sheep?” he asked, hitting the dustpan against his hand. “How disappointing, I would have thought your noble attempts at survival would have been much more entertaining. You best pray my lord will have mercy on you.”

“You best pray your lord will have mercy on  _ you,  _ bastard.” Hazel spat, spitting to her right and deciding to opt for an old-fashioned technique. She slammed the axe down, it’s pointed features stabbing wood. “You may have succeeded in claiming others as your ‘little sheep’, but not me and certainly not Henry! I will be damned if I let any further harm befall either of us!”

Starting their second round of conflict, the woman punched the taller man square in the face, but not without him kicking her down and trying to grab her, her forehead gaining a cut which made her hiss. She hit him again, this time in a series of blows until he was down. The grip on his weapon ceased and Hazel saw an opening, quickly getting the pan and holding the mad person down as she went on to strike him across the face multiple times. He was able to throw her off of him with a grunt, using a hand for aid as he got his bearings back. 

“Had enough yet?”

“Had enough?” Hazel repeated, the question enough to produce laughter. “Oh love, I’m just getting started. What’s wrong? Did you not think I would try so hard to fight back? Poor thing. You are a fool for thinking I was weak. Try not to feel too bad though, it is a common mistake.”

The final half of their battle was set into motion, the two tackling one another for victory. They heads hit against the walls, their backs also paying the price. The prophet’s strength proved to be dominant, with the detective being shoved with such force that she hit the side of her head against an angled shelf, rendering her unconscious. Inky fingers brushed back auburn tresses, taking some time to assess the new offering. Her lips were coated in red, her eyes smoked in light and dark grey and lashes long and blackened by pigment. Her outfit spoke elegance, to her upper attire down to her tights and heels. Curved at the hips, there was no doubt he was being faced with a beautiful specimen- such beauty was rare these days. It was almost a shame Bendy had spoken.

Now...how was he going to get both sacrifices to where they needed to be?

***

“There we go now, nice and tight.” Sammy stepped back to admire his work after securing some ropes, adze in hand. “We wouldn’t want our sheep roaming away now, would we? No, we wouldn’t. I must admit I am honoured that you both came all the way down here to visit me. It almost makes what I’m about to do seem cruel.”

Ears ringing, Hazel awoke in a groggy state of mind. Her vision was fuzzy and her hearing was distorted, she could just barely hear what was being said to her. Everything was hurting, her muscles flaring and screaming from the strain they had been put under. 

"What…" she tried looking behind her with no luck in succeeding. She could just about see the outline of Henry's jumper. Sighing in relief, she shook off her agony. "What do you plan on doing to us? If you have any shred of decency, you’ll answer me! Answer me, damn you!"

“But the believers must honour their saviour.” Sammy mused, walking to where he had set his sheeps’ belongings and placing down the chopper. Candles had been set aflame, struggling seemed pointless. “I must have him notice me.”

“Who? Who must notice you? Please, you don’t have to do this. My name is Hazel Wainwright, I’m a private investigator. We could talk about this rationally, I could help you if you just give me a chance. What’s your name?”

The shepard didn’t reply to either of Hazel’s questions, instead choosing to remain trapped in a mindset of his own making. His body language and voice then softened, struck by what could only be perceived as a short memory. “Wait. You look familiar to me...those eyes…” he leaned in, getting a closer look at the viridescent organs of sight. Hazel could do nothing but remain still, wanting to observe this supposed beasts’s actions. His four digits on both hands drew lines underneath the smooth skin, seemingly the first time he had ever seen such things.  _ Such pretty things _ . He was curious about the new colour, like a child who had yet to see it for themselves in person. “And you there…”

He stopped what he was doing and circled around the individuals, reaching Henry. “That face…”

Henry’s fists tightened, gifting Sammy with a dirty look. There was a dull hue in his eyes, one that meant he was serious.

_ Touch me and I will put you in the ground, motherfucker. _

The mask wearer then shook his head, the way he did so reminiscent of aggressiveness. He returned to his original position, his husky tone also making a comeback. “Not now. For our lord is calling to us, my little sheep. The time of sacrifice is at hand!”

His movements were theatrical in quality, expressive and eccentric. He really seemed to believe that a spiritual saviour was going to be summoned by the deaths of the innocent. 

“And then,” he declared, finger pointed in certainty. “I will finally be freed from this prison...This inky...dark...abyss I call a body.”

“Listen to the woman, man.” spoke Henry, doing everything he could to hide his terror. “You don’t need to do this. Just untie us and we can talk about this like adults-”

“Shhhhh..Quiet!” Sammy cut in and got close, a finger to his lips. He then fluttered them in sinister delight. “Listen! I can hear him. Crawling above. Crawling! Let us begin. The ritual must be completed! Soon he will hear me...he will set us free.”

The behemoth of a man advanced to his left, going into a seperate area. The top of his head nearly touched the top of the door leading to it, the form disappearing from view as soon as he closed it after himself. It was at this point Henry and Hazel saw their opportunity, struggling to get free. When all hope seemed lost, there was a breakthrough. One of the ropes was loose, if either one of them could get to it, they had a chance of escape.

_ “Sheep, sheep, sheep. It’s time for sleep. Rest your head, it’s time for bed.” _ Sammy recited eerily, the words heard through speakers. _ “In the morning, you may wake. Or in the morning, you’ll be dead.” _

“Damn, I can’t reach it! Curse my tiny arms.” Hazel slumped her shoulders, half hopeful that Henry could reach. “Can you try?”

“Give me a second.” Henry struggled, trying to wriggle his arm down. With a pull, he was able to free them both. “Oh, hell yeah! I didn’t think that’d actually work.”

“Excellent work!” praised Hazel, rubbing her wrists in a circular direction. “But we’re not out of the woods just yet, we still need to-”

Soon the room started to shake, ink gurgling away and minding its own business. Metal curtains started to lift, revealing a dark aperture up ahead.

_ “Hear me, Bendy! Arise from the darkness! Arise and claim my offering! Free me I beg you! I summon you Ink Demon! Show your face and take this tender sheep!” _

Something had or was about to go wrong.  _ Very  _ wrong. There was a change in the air, an arctic-like chill slithered up spinal cords, goosebumps spooking themselves and popping up on human flesh. Retrieving their stolen personal effects, horror soon expressed itself. Nothing could have prepared either party for what was to come next.

_ “No! My lord! Stay back! I am your prophet! I am your-” _

A blood curdling yell cut off the ritual, fluid spilling under the crack of the door. It could have only meant one thing. Wasting no time, Hazel extended her arm and reached out a hand, her plan to help thwarted by her partner when he pulled her away.

“Let go of me! There has to be something I can do, I can’t just leave when-”

“It’s too late for him! I’m sorry,” said Henry, regretful nothing could have been done. “Truly I am, but we have to go if we want to have any chance of survival. Come on!”

Defeated, Hazel silently complied and assisted in fighting off against enemies when they chose to charge. Breaking through wooden boards and running directly in the demon’s life source, the handle of the axe broke off after getting past the last panel. They both face palmed, they should have known nothing good lasts forever.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me?” Henry gripped the bridge of his nose, sighing and muttering. “ _ Mac galla. Nam faiceadh tu mi a-nis, athair.  _ Well, that was fun. Don’t see how this can get any worse for us, Hazel.”

Right on queue, the zone became tarnished with blackened veins and the Ink Demon jumped out, pursuing in a chase. Shrieking, Hazel yanked Henry to the right, only looking back to ensure he was following. Bendy was closing in, but a rapid push of adrenaline was enough to get them to safety behind a door. Henry blocked it off, hearing the ghoulish creature slam against it before giving up, retreating back to the murky depths. Catching their breaths, the man coughed and covered his mouth, clearing his throat out in the process. So the time had come, all his years of smoking were finally coming back to bite him in the behind. With unspoken gratitude, he gave Hazel a nod which she returned. They went on, another phase of their crazy adventure about to start. An empty can of bacon soup rolled out from the shadows, reverberating all around the spot. Hazel stood at the back of Henry, who put an arm to the side protectively before addressing whatever was hiding.

“Hello? Someone there? Whoever you are, come out and show yourself.”

The order had been accepted, and a life size clone of Boris emerged casually and focused on the two strangers. Henry and Hazel gasped, unable to believe what they were seeing.

“Boris?” 

***

**_“He appears from the shadows to rain his sweet blessings upon me. The figure of ink shines in the darkness. I see you, my saviour. I pray that you hear me. Those old songs, yes, I still sing them. For I know you are coming to save me. And I will be swept into your final loving embrace. But, love requires sacrifice, can I get an amen?”- Sammy Lawerence._ **

_ “I said, can I get an amen?” _


	10. Rise and Fall (Part 1)

_ The Safehouse _

The ticking of the Bendy clock caused Henry to stir from his sleep, his eyes taking a minute to adjust to the colours around him. He was lying on an army folding bed with no blanket to cover him, though to his surprise he wasn’t cold. Underneath a hammock was a chest containing unknown contents, the latter having not needed to open it. There was a metal mesh bin and a lob-sided vent, along with two ink splats in a corner of the right wall. More items housed the room such as a Boris poster and other useless tack, the material objects offering some form of company. Perhaps it was silly to think inanimate assets could give such a pleasure, though in the confines of loneliness it was better than nothing.

Slowly, he got up and placed both feet on the ground, looking down at the floor. It felt like no time had passed at all, that it hadn’t even been a minute since he passed out from exhaustion. He wanted to return to the Land of Nod (as Hazel called it), though there was no point in it now. Running his hand over his face, he sighed audibly and reached to his side. Retrieving a clean garment that had been found for him a day or two ago, he started removing his jumper and unbuttoning his dirty shirt before removing it. There were dried black splatters covering it, it was definitely time for a change. While undressing, he held the clothing and assessed the stains. Twenty years ago, they would have been red in colour and on green uniforms rather than everyday apparel. The marks of men who had done no wrong to be in the place they had been forced into would coat the fabric and make itself home in the fibres, blood of men who were simply doing as they were told like automated machines. His own blood, seeping from seemingly never-ending wounds. That was when the original Henry Munroe had died, it had been settled, lost to a mind that only knew of anxiety and the shakes now that he couldn’t get his fix.

Scars ran up his arms and chest, down to his stomach and lining his torso while digging deep into his back. They were on display for him to see, only he was allowed a ticket to the show. Every waking minute, every hour of every day, every breath that he took, they would always be there ready to repeat it all over again. Henry couldn’t waste away dwelling, no opportunities would allow for it. Press on, he told himself. Press on. He finished dressing and wrapped his sweater around his waist, tying the sleeves into a knot. He stood, being careful not to hit his head on the low ceiling or the door frame as he exited the bedroom and went into the main part of the safehouse.

Boris was sitting at the table, tapping away like he usually did. Hazel on the other hand...she wasn’t fine. It took a second for him to find her, but where she was didn’t appear comfortable. She was on the floorboards, her legs and knees close to her chest. The first two buttons of her blouse were undone, her cheeks and the end of her nose red from a heavy amount of crying. Her heels hung loosely from the bottom of her feet, a cigarette that had since burned out between two fingers. All she was missing now was a bottle of her favourite scotch, but in reality no amount of drink could soothe her.

Seeing she was in a bad way, Henry silently joined her side and got as adjusted as he could. It pained him to see such a normally strong person seem so weak, and after having been in the safehouse for the past few days they had taken the time to get to know one another more and found that they weren’t so different, sharing common interests like playing games of cards and tastes in whiskeys. A friendship had struck between the two, one they hoped would remain even if it was temporary. Company was a privilege here, they had learned. Losing themselves was not an option.

“You been here all this time?” asked Henry, getting a nod from the other. “Not exactly the best sleeping place. Though from the looks of it, I think I should assume you haven’t had any.”

“Your assumption would be correct.” Hazel moves her head, there was a faint cracking of bone which offered some relief. “My neck is bloody killing me. There’d be more tears from the pain, but I’ve quite literally cried them all out. I have no more left to shed.”

Knowing why she was upset, Henry tried to bring the bothersome subject up. “Look, Red- Hazel, if this is about that guy, there really was nothing we could have done for him. He was too far gone, he wouldn’t have recognised you were trying to help him even if some part of him wanted to. Feeling like this, dwelling on it all...it ain’t gonna help ya. Trust me.”

Hazel sniffled, getting the photographs. She smiled with a watery sheen at the man pictured, her fingers tracing over the glossy paper. “I...I was looking at them, asking myself so many questions that I've inquired about before when I have had time to myself. What do the kindest people do to deserve such cruelty? He was so lovely...so...beautiful, and he was turned into that monster that almost had us killed. It wasn’t hard for me to piece everything together.”

At first Henry wasn’t following her, until he gave it some hard thought after taking a peak at the vintage snapshots. His expression morphed into that of shock. “Oh my God...hold on that’s...that’s Sammy. Sammy Lawrence. He was the...oh my God, you came looking for him, didn’t you? Who even-”

“His aunt. Ms Phyllis Lawrence.” she replied, she saw no need for confidentiality anymore. “Last living relative the poor man had after his parents died some months ago. She’s been trying so hard to keep his memory alive over the years in the hope that one day, somehow, he’d come back to her. I knew there was a chance he may have already departed, normally a missing persons case never brings positive results after this amount of time, but there he was. Alive, albeit insane and cursed with a horrid body. The life of an innocent man is now gone for good and we had to hear his final cries and stand by because we couldn’t save him.  _ I  _ couldn’t save him, Henry. Maybe if i’d known about this all sooner, maybe if i’d- oh God...if we get out of this alive, how am I going to tell Phyllis he’s dead? I’ve had to deliver such news before, but now I feel as though my heart will shatter if I do. How...how can I?”

“Hey, shh. C’mon now…” hesitantly, Henry put a hand on her shoulder, unsure of how she would react to it. She seemed confused, but didn’t mind. “What matters is you actually tried to help, that’s all anyone could have asked of you. You really think the police were gonna reopen their investigation? Those lazy pricks wouldn’t have done anything, especially not the things you have. You gave up your own time and did this without anyone paying you a dime. Went above and beyond the line of duty, because you felt it was the right thing to do. That takes a lot of courage. The words will come to you, you’ll find a way.”

Hazel relaxed, releasing the pressure her body was feeling from her position. She discarded her cigarette, wiping the remnants on her skirt. “Courage has nothing to do with it, it is routine at this point. You train your mind to become accustomed to any given situation, though this was something I can hold my hands up and say I was not prepared for. Helping others is in here.” she pats where her heart would be and continued. “It has been since I was old enough to understand what this work entailed, I was only a child, an eight year old who wasn’t blind to the truth like most little girls at that age. I’m not ready to give up on my life just yet. Not without a fight and certainly not until I find out what happened here. I will figure out what took place all that time ago, even if it kills me.”

_ Even if it kills me,  _ Henry repeated the words in his head. But he didn’t want her to die…

“I’ll uhh...I’ll go whip something up, you should eat. Keep your strength up.”

He rose, going to gather some soup cans so he could prepare a meal. Hazel got her bag and went into the bathroom. It wasn’t ideal nor did it look sanitary, but it was the best she could get. There was a mirror and some sinks along with bathroom stalls, ink pooling on the ground. She used her time to freshen up, using a pack of wet wipes she’d forgotten about to clean her face and remove the remnants of ruined makeup. To finish, she thought it only fair to say a final goodbye to the old music director.

“I will not let your death be in vain, dear.” she promised, a shudder in her breathing. “You deserve to be with your mother and father now. If what your aunt told me about them was true, I can only imagine that you will be as loved in death as you were in life. Maybe one day we will meet, wherever that may be, and you can tell me all about the marvellous life you led over a cup of tea. But until then, I will carry your memory and the memories of the lost ones. Fly high and shine bright, Birdie.”

Cleaning herself up and packing away her belongings, she joined Henry and Boris for food. Time moved slowly, especially when not much conversation was exchanged . Afterwards, the three set out from the homely confines, not knowing where their journey would lead them to. To be quick and as quiet as possible was no easy feat, the five senses having to work as one in order to ensure the survival of their hosts. Darkness lay up ahead, a torch idly watching the trio from a work bench before Henry picked it up and flicked the switch on the back of it. Boris was afraid, shuddering and covering his face.

“Oh bless you,” Hazel frowned, sympathetic for the creature. “You’re afraid of the dark, aren’t you, sweetheart? Don’t be scared, Henry will keep the light nearby so neither of us get lost. It’s all right, take my hand. The darkness will be less frightening that way. It cannot hurt you as long as we stick together.”

Boris peeped through his gloved fingers, moving his hands away and taking Hazel’s. He appeared dubious to keep his hold, worried he might break the frangible bones inside her fingertips. In reassurance, he was guided along by the woman, like a mother with her child. The way forward was filled with vigilance, the grinding and squeaking of gears and machinery. It scraped against sensitive teeth, the sound enough to produce an ‘ack’ of disgust from Henry.

_ Worse than nails scraping down a blackboard- actually, nothing’s worse than that. Don’t think back to fourth grade, Hank. Not a good idea. _

The echo of footsteps running above caused the three to stop, Boris glancing left and right. They figured it would be best to ignore what had just happened, not wanting it to deter them. To stay put any longer would mean certain doom.

“Did either of you hear that?” Henry asked, his companions shaking their heads quickly in denial. He was quick to shake it off, not wanting to think about what it could have been. “Yeah, me neither. I think I see an opening up ahead, we should keep going.”

Boris and Hazel agreed wordlessly, continuing on. As well as the unsettling scraping of cogs, cobwebs and scarce amounts of Bendy cutouts filled in the empty spaces. Considering there were webs, it had to be said that not once had the inhabitants encountered a spider. Maybe the Ink Demon had squashed or eaten them? It was a mystery not worth delving into. Reaching the end of the path, the murkiness had been replaced with light, although it wasn’t very bright. A pair of large doors blocked their way and there didn’t seem to be any form of switch or mechanism that could have unlocked them. 

“Another dead end.” remarked Henry, he was beginning to get annoyed.

When all seemed lost, Boris pointed to a ventilation shaft and prompted Henry to give him the flashlight. Albeit confused, Henry complied and he and Hazel watched as Boris crawled on his hands and knees out of sight. With a jumpy start, the doors opened with a quake and the route was revealed. Ink dripped from the ceiling and into a drainage grate below presumably from the faulty pipe above, Bendy’s face painted onto the wall. The path was divided into two, and what was on the other side shocked them both. 

A huge sign saying “Heavenly Toys” was printed boldly, as though the requester had wanted it to be noticed by all who passed it. There was a bigger Bendy symbol behind it, with ink flowing like a steady waterfall. A halo was positioned on the top, numerous dolls of Bendy, Boris and Alice in various sizes were scattered around. Giant model planes hung from wires, the haunting words  **“DREAMS COME TRUE”** written on the wall towards the back of the room. Below it, there was a gear. There was also a series of familiar Bendy cutouts and two sofas, which some were positioned on. A contraption known as a “Little Miracle Station” was also present, neither person knowing what it could have been used for. Some portions of the space were sectioned off by fence-like structures, leading to further confusion.

“Wow. I...I don’t remember any of this.” Henry admitted, his mind blanking. “Heavenly Toys? I really don’t recall the studio ever having a franchising department, unless this was something Joey kept under wraps?”

“No that’s not it,” Hazel dismissed the idea, there was a rise in her tone. “I know for a fact. I was a teenager at the time the studio was in its prime, my grandmother’s brother- my great-uncle, Shawn Flynn, was a worker here for a few years before going into early retirement. He still lives in the state and I originally intended to spend the summer with him before this sparked my interest. I learned quite a few truths before coming here, that he was not as happy as he made himself out to be to me or my family, covering it up with hand-made gifts and letters speaking of a job he was ‘enjoying’. Mr Drew was not kind to him, actions that resulted in his physical health deteriorating and forcing him to give up the craft he loved. I’ll never forgive your friend for that, I’m sorry if you take offense to such a comment but it’s the truth.”

_ So it’s also personal for her...poor Shawn, he seemed like such a kind old man whenever I’d see him. I never knew he suffered like this,  _ thought Henry.  _ What changed you, Joey? How could you do this? _

“You don’t need to apologise for any of that. You want to avenge the mistreatment of your uncle, any relative of someone they care about would. It’s easy to tell you love him, I’m sure he loves you too.”

Hazel hummed and smiled, then nodded. “I know he does. He always tells me in his traditional Irish way, even though I can’t understand anything he says” she turned sad, the realisation of what she had done only just sinking in. “He doesn’t even know I’m here. I lied to him, saying that I was going sightseeing and that I’d be back at a reasonable hour. He must be worried sick.”

Henry patted her shoulder in an assuring fashion, going forward. She followed him up some stairs, two cables leading to another room. Hazel took notes and a couple pictures, making sure she was careful when she got her snapshots. Automatic shelving units were stacked with merchandise, blocking access to what appeared to be an exit.

“Everytime.” Hazel said with an irritated roll of her eyes. “Every fucking time, there has to be something blocking the door. There’s got to be a way through all this crap, perhaps if we get these machines working it might activate these shelves so that we can move them aside.”

“I think I saw something outside,” added Henry, using his thumb to point behind him. “I’ll go check it out.”

After figuring out how the machines worked and removing toys that had become lodged into the works, they were able to move the shelves so that they could progress. The next part they entered didn’t seem out of the ordinary, the majority of it filled with Alice memorabilia. Until the room went completely black except for a flickering bulb that highlighted the phrase  **“SHE’S QUITE A GAL”** .

An airy and kindly giggle played from what sounded like speakers, breaking into song. The pair couldn’t see anything, having to hold on to one another to ensure the other didn’t go astray. Hearts pounded fast, just like when the Ink Demon had first showed up, feeling like the organs were going to slip up from their chests and into their throats. Pupils shrank and breaths laboured, impending panic kicking in.

_ “I'm the cutest little angel, sent from above, and I know just how to swing. _

_ I got a bright little halo, and I'm filled with love... _

_ I'm Alice Angel! _

_ I'm the hit of the party, I'm the belle of the ball, I'm the toast of every town. _

_ Just one little dance, and I know you'll fall... _

_ I'm Alice Angel! _

_ I ain't no flapper, I'm a classy dish, and boy, can this girl sing. _

_ This gal can grant your every wish... _

“I’M ALICE ANGELl!” a voice screamed demonically as an angel-like figure popped up from out of nowhere, Henry and Hazel shrieking with terror in response. Glass smashed into pieces, an evil laugh a dramatic shift from the lilting voice that had been singing just a moment ago.

“I see you there.” the hauntingly enchanting speaker said. “Two new additions to my endless web, how exciting. Come along now, let’s see if either of you are worthy to walk with angels.”

With that, the darkness faded and it was time to venture forward. The fear had to be shaken off as much as possible, although it was almost paralysing. Moving on and turning a corner, they were met with two options. Two paths potentially leading to different outcomes. One could mean they lived to tell their tale, the second meaning they could die without anyone ever knowing what they went through.

_ The Demon Path and The Angel Path…Interesting,  _ Hazel thought as her logic started getting to work.

“We only have one chance to make our decision. What we choose could impact the rest of...well, I don’t know whether to call it our adventure or my stupid mistake, neither seems to apply. The path of the Demon from the name alone sounds like it will be filled with peril, while the path of the Angel…”

“If you’re gonna say it’s more appealing, I severely doubt it after that freak of nature showed herself.” Henry retorted, the mere conception of another monster wanting their guts for garters sent chills down his spine. “The Demon Path has to represent Bendy and the Angel Path must represent Alice- or whoever she is. You don’t think…”

“She could be one of the missing employees?” Hazel reasoned, then nodded in accordance with her hypothesis. “It’s possible. Definitely possible. When I was reading through the old case files at the LBPD, I read through two studies. One of a woman going by the name of Susanne-Alanna Campbell, better known as Susie Campbell, and another of a slightly younger lady named Allison Pendle. The two were in their twenties at the time they vanished and both were voice actresses. After our little run in with that monster, I strongly believe she could be either of the women. Regardless of who it is, they’re a crazy bitch.”

Henry opened his mouth to say something, but realised the words that had left Hazel were more than accurate given the circumstances. “You’re not wrong. So, which way? I’m leaving this one up to you, Red.”

_ Oh goodie. _

The choice at hand was a difficult one to make. The way of the Demon or the way of the Angel? A scheme then came to her, one she wasn’t sure would work out or not, but it couldn’t be thrown out the window entirely. Two people, two pathways and two ghouls out to get them.

_ What if I take the Angel Path and Henry takes the Demon path? _


	11. Rise and Fall (Part 2)

**_“There’s nothing wrong with dreaming. Wishing for the impossible is just human nature. That’s how I got started, just a pencil and a dream. We all want everything, without even having to lift a finger. They say you just have to believe. Belief can make you succeed. Belief can make you rich. Belief can make you powerful. Why with enough belief, you can even cheat death itself! Now that...is a beautiful, and positively silly thought.”- Joey Drew._ **

“I say we both take a path each.” decided Hazel, pointing to each one with her finger. “I’ll take this one, and you take the other. If what I have hypothesised is correct, the two will somehow link to the other side of wherever they both lead. We shouldn’t waste any time, we-” she stopped, quickly glancing around. “Hang on a minute...Boris! Oh no! He never returned when he went through that vent, you don’t think…”

“I wouldn’t be too quick to worry about him.” Henry reassured her, rubbing the back of his neck. Tiny bones cracked as he moved it around, releasing any tension that had been there. “Boris is pretty capable of holding his own when he needs to, he’s probably found his own way. Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s fine. He’ll find us.”

Hazel couldn’t help fret for the poor wolf, she harboured feelings towards him that could only be put as motherly. Like any mother who worried for her child. “Y-you’re right. He’s a sensible boy, he’ll know what to do if he lands himself in bother. So, about going either way…”

“Wait you mean-” Henry didn’t sound sure Hazel’s idea would work. “What happened to sticking together? We both agreed that was important.”

“Yes and we will be, once we get to the other side. We may find more information if different ways are taken. It isn’t ideal, I know that risks could be involved. But unless you have got any more bright ideas, I don’t think we have much of a choice.”

Henry didn’t like the idea, he  _ really  _ didn’t like it. Though there wasn’t any other option. They could both pursue the same path only for them to meet their fate by whatever was out to get them now, or they choose life and do what they thought was right. Demons? He had so many he practically attracted them. Maybe it would be right if he went down the Demon Path. It had to be.

“Alright,” he let up, he wasn’t going to argue. “If you think that’s best. Hopefully it all won’t be for nothing. I’ll see you on the other side.”

He  _ would  _ see her.

“As to you, Henry.” Hazel wished him well, tipping her hat. Each braced themselves, stepping into unknown ground. When the shutters slammed behind them, that’s when they knew they were on their own for the time being.

***

**_“Everything feels like it’s coming apart. When I walked into the recording booth the other day, Sammy was there with that...Allison. Apparently I didn’t get the memo. Alice Angel will now be voiced by Miss Allison Pendle. A part of me died when he said that. There’s gotta be a way to fix this!”- Susie Campbell._ **

The lounge area, assumingly where staff members would come to socialise on their breaks, was not something Hazel was expected. It was furnished, with an Alice-Angel cutout and a Tasty Eats brand vending machine. A small television met the woman’s gaze as she explored further, finding a waste disposal can and a coat hanger. Getting a closer look at it, it reminded Hazel of the one that was in her childhood home. Her father would leave his hat and coat on it every day after coming home from a long day at work, before scooping his tiny daughter up in his arms and planting the biggest of kisses on her cheek. She could only hope she’d get to see her beloved family again.

_ Mum, Dad, Nanna Sibby and Nanna Mari...Uncle Flynn. They must be worried sick. _

An Alice doll captured her sights next, which she picked up and thoroughly examined. The material looked and felt awfully cheap, which didn’t come as a surprise to her given what she had kept a note of. It was like whoever had created it had decided not to bother towards the end, the stitches going off in a messy pattern. It was as though who had been working on it had hands possessing minds of their own.

“This must have been Uncle Flynn’s work,” Hazel reasoned, turning the toy around so it’s back faced her. “Around the time he started getting ill. Poor thing, I can’t even begin to fathom what pain he would have been in just to create something so materialistic. All of that effort, down the drain because business wasn’t smooth sailing. I’m so sorry, Uncle...If only the previous investigation had succeeded. Anyhow, the past is the past. Get up, Hazel, there is evidence to get.”

Lifting herself up, she put a hand into her bag and reached for her camera, taking it out and proceeding to take photographs. Piece after piece of glossy paper would document the shells of what had been long forgotten, forever to rot with the shadows that remained. After a few minutes, Hazel placed her equipment back in it’s resting place and continued on, noting that the flooring was different to the ones she had seen earlier. Disregarding it as irrelevant, she turned a corner and pushed open a door, walking through it being careful not to get her heels stuck in the mesh layout when she proceeded down a hall. She gasped when a drop of the tainted ink fell on her shoulder from the ceiling, though saw no need to brush it off. Entering another passageway, she went forward and was greeted with a Bendy cut-out coming out of hiding. Shrieking, she instinctively landed a punch and accidentally hit Henry. He cried out and held his nose, moaning from the pain. 

“Oh my God, I am  _ so  _ sorry!” Hazel apologised, checking him over. “I hope I haven’t broken anything. Damn it all, I thought something was trying to attack me. You scared me half to death with that little stunt.”

“It’s okay. Christ, you’re pretty strong.” Henry half-laughed, uncovering his face. “Blame Boris, it was his idea. Turns out he was here waiting for us. Was able to find something we can use to protect ourselves with.”

Boris expresses himself sheepishly while holding a pipe, hoping Hazel wasn’t mad at him. She sighed, although shocked she was still happy to see him safe and sound.

“I was quite worried about you, my dear.” she said, allowing herself to calm down. “But I’m glad you’re safe. Just don’t go about scaring me again, my heart has been quite fragile as of late. Though enough of that now, what matters is we’re alive and together again. Come now, we must go onward. Keep close, Boris.”

Boris nodded and the reunited trio went ahead, going through the remnants of a storage unit. Wires lead like slithering snakes to switches, laying dormant after having not received any power. They see one as they arrive at a corridor, there was no other option but to activate them. Henry put his hands together, concocting a plan.

“You stay here with Boris and get that one, I’ll go find the other. It shouldn’t be too far from here, seeing where these cables go off.” he estimated, turning to Boris. “Can I borrow that pipe, buddy?”

“Be careful.” Hazel cautioned as the weapon was handed to Henry. “If you find yourself in trouble, do whatever you must to get our attention. Shout, scream- anything you think that will work.”

“I will, I promise.” replied Henry, his tone of voice reassuring though at the same time not overly so. “Don’t worry, I’ll be alright.”

With the blunt end of the metal pipe in hand, Henry pushed on alone and followed the wiring, going around a corner. A poster presenting characters known as The Butcher Gang covered some of the back wall, a trio of who appeared to be the main antagonists of the Bendy cartoons. Two were humanoid in appearance, one wearing a vest and tail coat and the other dressed in what was a mix-match of pirate and sailor attire, smoking a pipe. The last was a spider-like character, sporting only six legs as opposed to an actual arachnid. From his mouth spawned two fangs, peeking from unseeable gums. As Henry was about to pull the lever, a deformed character resembling that of the advertisement shrieked, surprising the man. He screamed and got back, though not without cursing.

“ _ Sìol naomh! Cò às a tha na rudan sin a ’tighinn?  _ Alright, you little fucker. If this is how you wanna do this, then batter up!” 

Henry dodged the oncoming attacks of the creature, not wanting to get hit by the pipe it had in its clutches. He was able to get some hits in, landing the final one across the head. The lifeless Piper fell to the floor like a ragdoll, disappearing back into the ink from which it had been made. Leaning forward, Henry took the time to get his breath back, covering his mouth with the back of his hand and letting out a cough.

“Shit…” he gasped, his chest convoluted a second time. “That came out of nowhere. Nevermind that now, you took it down. Gotta get that switch.”

Getting some composure, the task was fulfilled and electricity was gifted to the bolts and circuits. Hazel and Boris had come to Henry’s aid, having heard the prior commotion. 

“Oh thank goodness, I feared the worst.” sighed Hazel, relieved no harm had come to her friend. “A door opened up after you and Boris pulled the switches, I believe it goes to wherever we have to journey to next. “Take some time to regain your energy, deep breaths. That’s it.”

Hoping she wasn’t overstepping any boundaries, she placed her palm on Henry’s back and rubbed it. He didn’t react to it, still intaking and exhaling much needed air during the intervals his body allowed. Fixing his posture, he brushed his hair from his eyes and positioned his hands on his hips.

“Thanks...I needed that.” Henry breathed, his lungs working to get back in order. “I really need to get back into shape, that or cut down on the cigarettes. Right, which way did you say again?”

“Just up ahead,” gestured Hazel, aiding Henry. “Follow us. Boris, make sure you stay where we can see you. Don’t worry, we won’t be far behind.”

The passage which they found themselves in wasn’t empty, in fact it was far from it. There was a table and a workbench, decorated with candles made from repurposed soup cans. A balcony situated doors to toilet facilities, a stairwell that went downward, a lift shaft and a contraption named a Little Miracle Station inhabited what otherwise would have been a barren corner. Assuming the elevator was the way forward Boris and Henry made their way for it, showing no issues stepping inside it. Hazel on the other hand showed hesitation at first.

_ Oh God not this,  _ she thought with dread as a tightening in her chest began to unravel from it’s tough, ropey knots.  _ Please. Anything but these deathtraps. _

“Hey, Red, you okay?” inquired Henry, his features softened. Something was wrong, he didn’t need to think twice about it. “Red? Hazel...c’mon we gotta get moving. What’s wrong?”

“Huh?” Hazel was snapped out of her daze, shaking her head to become one with reality once more. “Oh, sorry about that. Nothing’s wrong, why would anything be wrong? I was just thinking, is all.”

“Thinking? About what?”

“It’s personal. I’m fine, really. You’re right, we have to get moving.”

_ You can do this, Hally. Just brave it out, it will all be over soon enough. _

Walking into the lift, the gate automatically closed after her. The area was big enough to fit a group of people, let alone three. It began its descent towards one of the lower levels, Hazel having to constantly fight back the urge to panic. 

_ It’s silly, still being like this at my age. It’s just a lift, Dad said I’d get past it, but evidently not. I hate confined spaces just as much now as I did when I was ten. Curse faulty locks and hide and seek. _

_ “You’re both so interesting.”  _ Alice rambled, speaking from an unknown location.”  _...So different. I have to say I’m an instant fan, especially you with the red hair...such a lovely face. Looks like you’ve got a date with an angel! Come to me now. Level Nine. Just follow the screams.” _

“Way to be ominous, am I right?” joked Henry, attempting to lighten the mood. Hazel giggled in response, returning the humorous sentiment.

“Ominous? I was going to say cliché, but that works too I suppose. I wonder if this is how we’ll die? Getting bored to death by a deformed, real life representation of a beloved icon?”

“Wouldn’t be that bad of a way to go though, am I right?” Henry laughed, nearly tumbling forward as the large mechanism came to a stop. Hazel caught him in time, not wanting him to fall. Part of her hoped it would be the last time they ever had to journey in the death machine, but she knew that ultimately was wishful thinking. 

_ Might be about time to conquer these petty fears,  _ she thought as she fixed her hat back into place. 

_ “Come on, step out of your cage.” _ Alice Angel ordered, her sultry way of speaking present in every word she said.  _ “There’s a whole twisted world out here.” _

The demon’s venom stained a flight of stairs in a splat, like a bucket of paint had been dropped from a height. It was dry, Hazel noted, probably having been that way for a time. A shelving unit and a trunk waited aimlessly at the bottom, being ignored as the group went on their way.

“Seems like some kind of lair. You think Wry Mouth built all this?” Henry asked, in awe at what he was seeing.

“It’s possible, though I would doubt no help of some kind was involved.” Hazel responded, stopping at more stairs. “Christ, how many stairwells does this place need? I’d run up them in a jiffy, but after being trapped in here for who knows how long- I don’t know, a week or so, I would say things are finally starting to catch up to me.” something fell onto her, causing her to cry out. “Oh, bugger! What was that? That’s the second time that’s happened.”

Henry investigated, seeing a leak from the roof. “It’s okay, it was just ink. Think getting yourself dirty should be the least of worries right now.” said Henry, tilting his head to the side in a “Follow me” manner. “We should go, find out what this ‘woman’ wants.”

“Believe me, it  _ is  _ the least of my worries.” Hazel answered, inserting emphasis into it. “I wouldn’t care if I was wearing the latest piece from Burberry or Ralph Lauren, luxuries are quite meaningless right now. Then again, they always have been rather dull. Never approved of itchy fabric, if you ask me I believe a loose pair of trousers and a blouse is better. At least you had the right idea. I on the other hand...nevermind. Boris, wait for us!”

She rushed to catch up with the wolf, with Henry doing so not long after. The entrance before them had an almost grand quality to it, as though who had created it had purposefully wanted onlookers to marvel in its greatness. Holding a sign that read  **“SHE’S QUITE A GAL”** was a perfect version of the sweet little angel, a hybrid of sorts possessing demon horns. Next to the metal doors was a form of drop off unit, where items could be sent from one place to another. It was puzzling, but neither party dared to go near it. Lights flickered on and off, no effort to replace a bulb having been made.

Said doors opened with a squeak and a shake, Boris hurrying on ahead. It was like he had the energy of a teenager, his elders left to navigate their own way. A desk and chair were positioned in a corner, with a lamp covered in cobwebs and a disposal can situated close by. An inkwell and a wooden toy plane had brought joy to someone long ago, now they remained as a piece of someone’s memory. A haunting reminder that whoever had occupied it was likely no longer part of the mortal world.

What Henry nor Hazel expected to see was a heap of dead clones, their ribs split open and their insides removed. It was sickening to see, even having after seeing the deceased various times during and before their current experience. Their senses battled their reflexes for control, heaving up the stomach fluid wasn’t a wanted outcome. Keep it together, keep it down, they told themselves.

“It doesn’t get any easier…” she trailed off, a sadness quick to build up in her. “No matter how many times you have to bear witness. I’ve seen a lot in my career...but not this. Nothing like this.”

Henry shook his head, responding to her after a heavy sigh. “When you’ve seen the things I’ve seen, you become numb to it over time. I’m not saying it gets any easier, because believe you me it doesn’t. You just become...used to it. To the point it feels kinda normal, despite knowing it’s not. When we’re not being hunted down by those that want us dead, I’ll elaborate. I promise. But for now, getting out of here is our best option. C’mon, guys.”

“Wait a minute.” Hazel’s attention turned to Boris, who was staring idly at a carcass. She took a step closer to him, concerned. “Boris? Come on, love, we have to go.”

He turned to her, his ears dropping and a sorrowful look in his eye. Joining his friends, he stayed close by so he could make sure they were keeping up. Passing barrels, walking on wooden planks and being careful not to fall in a giant pool of black with a half submerged Alice fan in it and a Striker floating on the surface. There was also an oddly placed partially broken sofa within the mess. The twisted variant spoke to herself in an almost child-like way, like she had never truly gotten her head out of the clouds.

_ “Look around. It took so many of them to make me so beautiful. Anything less than perfect was left behind. I had to do it...she made me.” _

_ Who made you,  _ Hazel asked herself.  _ Who made you commit these atrocities? Miss Campbell or Miss Pendle? Which one are you? _

Built into a corner was a desk and a shelf, it was difficult to reason why it would be so far out. Regardless, the idea was shrugged off as everyone continued on. A mini hall opened to them, an Alice Angel cutout and poster present when they went around the corner.

“Jeez. Whoever the lady is, she sure does love herself.” remarked Henry, he never had been one for women who were high on their own egos. Hazel scribbled in her notebook, smirking.

“As we say in England, she has her head shoved up her own arse. I’ve been around many women like her, the middle-class is ridden with them.” Hazel said, closing her book and placing it away when she was done with it. “I swear half of them only marry for the money, which would explain why their husbands are...well...of the older kind.” she shuddered. “I have no idea how they sleep at night. Anywho.” 

Bracing herself, she realised there was another room that was waiting for them. Someone was in there, but she couldn’t determine who. 

“Ready to face the unknown and potentially get killed by a deranged woman?” Hazel continued, a bit too casually. Henry firmly nodded, giving the go ahead.

“Not like we have much of a choice. Stay here, Boris, we won’t be long.”   
  



	12. Rise and Fall (Part 3)

The angel, in all of her wicked glory, was as gruesome as she had been when she had made her debut. Her attitude was so foul and filled with contempt that it practically radiated from her, an aura one could not help but feel disgusted by. Heavy panels lifted upwards, revealing a Piper being tortured with electricity, strapped down to a table and making distorted gurgles as the volts coursed through its body. Alice stopped upon seeing Henry and Hazel, the surrounding area now quiet for the time being as machinery was powered down. The only boundary between her and those that wanted to press forward was a giant pane of glass, similar to when a child peered into the window of a toy shop to inspect the latest craze.

“So the two of you finally got here.” she said, sneering at the pair. “Took you long enough. But now it seems we’ve come to the question. Do I kill you? Do I tear you both apart to my heart’s delight? The choices of the beautiful are unbearable. How’s a girl to choose?” she chuckled, continuing on. “Take this little freak for instance! He  _ crawled  _ in here, trailing his tainted ink to my door! It could have touched me, it could have pulled me back! Do you know what it’s like? Living in the dark puddles? Its a buzzing,  _ screaming  _ well of voices! Bits of your mind, swimming like fish in a bowl! The first time I was born from its inky womb, I was a wiggling, pussing, shapeless slug. The second time well...it made me an angel! I will not let the demon touch me again. I’m so close now. So almost perfect.”

Hazel’s eyebrow cocked upwards, she couldn’t have been the only one who heard that, right? It was like another person had spoken briefly, trying to reclaim control over the inky body they called home. There was really no way to deny it now, the ink woman had to be either Susie or Allison. The question was, which one of the two was she? Who would be driven to behave so monstrously that she could even fathom doing such horrific actions? 

“The terminology you used is subject to personal perspective, Miss.” she started, making eye contact with Alice. “I could look at you and say you are the freak in the room, although I will not lie to myself and say there isn’t some truth in that, despite me having a hate towards the word. Is the creature you are inflicting pain upon really any different? Think about that for a moment before any more words come out of that wretched mouth of yours. Perfect, my arse.”

Henry gave a sideways glance, impressed by how his friend had handled herself. If he could have applauded her in that moment, he gladly would have.

_ Not too shabby, Red,  _ he thought.  _ Not too shabby at all. _

Alice sighed, the expression mixed with a scoff. She didn’t have time for this. If she wanted to, she could have killed the duo faster than she could say her own name. But, what was the fun in doing such a thing when instead she could toy with them? A girl had to have a bit of fun of her own every once in a while.

“You speak calmly for a woman on death’s door. Putting on the act of a brave hero is going to get you killed. Nothing survives here, especially not people like you. You really think saying a few fancy sentences makes you come across as intimidating?”

“Intimidating?” Hazel had to laugh. “Oh heavens no. Well educated? Absolutely. I have achieved more in my life than you can ever possibly imagine. It makes me pity you more than anything else, trapped down here and having lost your complete sense of self. Tragic.”

A light growl rumbled in the back of Alice’s throat, she was beginning to feel annoyed by the other woman already. “If you’re quite finished, I was going to say that I’ll spare you both for now. Better yet, I’ll even let you ascend and leave this place. If you will do a few eensy weensy favours for me first.”

Henry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He knew where to draw the line, and Alice was crossing several of them. “What makes you think we’re gonna do anything for you? You’re the one that scared us, you cu-”

“Henry!” snapped Hazel, taking him to one side and talking quietly. “Calm yourself. Spouting coarse language is not going to help, we have to keep ourselves level-headed. While it’s not the smartest idea I’ve thought of, I say let’s just go along with it for now, okay? Promise me you won’t fly off the handle like that again.”

Henry agreed, for her sake. “I promise. I trust you’re doing the right thing.”

“Thank you. If death happens to take either one of us, permission to haunt one or the other is granted.” 

Allowing herself to get back to the moment, Hazel nodded towards Alice. “Very well, we’ll do what you want. As long as your end of the bargain is kept, I do not see why we should have a problem. Think of it as a business transaction. In exchange for our services, you will aid us in our escape. Sound fair?”

“Witty  _ and  _ pretty. There’s something about you, something I can’t put my finger on. Maybe my first impressions were wrong, my errand girl. Alright, I’ll accept your terms. Return to the lift, we have work to do.”

The shutters closed abruptly and the horrors taking place behind the scenes continued, the Piper once again in agony. Hazel jumped back in surprise, doubt taking its hold. She could have just made things a whole lot worse for herself, Henry and Boris.

***

From gathering spare parts to solving valve panels, collecting ink to keep Alice together and destroying cutouts to satisfy her vengeful appetite. To the slaughter of Butcher Gang clones and finally, surviving a dark abyss to acquire hearts of little worth to the regular eye while also avoiding a run in with Bendy. Their breathing laboured and their muscles sore, Henry wiped sweat from his brow as Hazel supported herself using his arm. 

_ My God,  _ she thought, her lungs burning like a hundred roaring flames.  _ She calls those eensy weensy favours? A workout seems like a better way to put it. _

_ “It seems we’ve reached the end of my to do list. I hope you two enjoyed our time together. I’ll always treasure it. Return to the lift.” _ Alice instructed, a warm and welcome tenderness to her words. _ “It’s time to go home.” _

Henry coughed into his hand, an infinitesimal wheeze in his breathing. He exhaled through his nose, his ability to speak returning. “You really think she’s gonna let us go after doing all of this?”

“If I know her type, she has some form of alternative agenda.” Hazel replied, slowly shifting her posture so that she stood straight. “When you think about it, she could have done the tasks for herself but chose not to for whatever reason. Stay alert and pay attention to any changes in her tone. What happens if we don’t do that? Well, we’re well and truly fucked. All we have is a pipe to protect us.”

“A lovely sentiment.” responded Henry, with evident sarcasm. “Alright, elevator’s that way. Boris did a pretty good job of keeping watch, but I don’t blame him for wanting to stay put. I probably would too if I were him.”

Once inside, the flimsy screen was pulled to the right, containing everyone who was inside. Boris was cowering, covering his face. Hazel spotted the behaviour, taking it with caution. The compartment began to ascend, presumably returning to the surface.

_ “Have you ever wondered what Heaven is like?”  _ Alice went on to monologue.  _ “I like to dream it's quite beautiful. A soft valley of green grass, blanketed by a warm sun. I don’t think I’ll ever get to see it. Are you ready to ascend? The heavens are waiting.” _

Her voice cracked, as though she were about to cry. But then the sadness descended into laughter, like that of someone who had reached their breaking point. It grew and grew, getting louder and louder until the lift came to a stop. Henry and Hazel exchanged frightened glances, brown and green focusing on one another.

“Oh. Fuck.” they cursed, screaming when they started to fall. Electricity sparked from different components as they malfunctioned. Alice’s voice had gone from calming to malicious, threatening in nature.

_ “Did you really think I’d let either of you steal from me!? Did you really think I’d just let you go!? No! I know who you are, Henry Munroe and Hazel Wainwright! And I know why you’re here! Neither of you will stop what needs to be done! Now come down and bring me back my Boris! It’s the most perfect Boris I’ve ever seen and I want it. I need it. I need its insides, so I can be beautiful again! Don’t you understand? Don’t you get it? Give him to me! Or better yet, I’ll take him. Once...you’re...dead!” _

The elevator came crashing down when it made contact with the lower floor, destroying anything that was underneath. Everything turned black, the silence took position on it’s shadowy throne and carried out it’s reign until colour and sound could make their much needed return. It was a haze, with things fading in and out in a repeated sequence. Boris shook Hazel’s shoulders first, but she was out cold. He went to Henry, looking behind him and urging his friend to wake up by increasing the pace of his shakes. Alice kept walking towards her prey, snatching him up when he was in her grasp. Unable to call out, Henry was helpless to do anything, feeling so far away from all that was around him. If this is what death was like, he hoped it claimed him quickly. It surprised him, how he hadn’t died instantly. It should have killed him, there was no way anyone could survive that.

“Hen..ry..” Hazel groaned, coughing from dust tickling the back of her throat. She was only just able to make out her friend’s shape, his form unmoving. “Henry...are you alright? Please...P-please say something. Anything.”

Nothing.

Her breathing short from pain, hot tears welled up in her eyes and shaking hands found their way to her face. “O-Oh God no...No,  _ no  _ not you too! I should have...I should have known that monster wouldn’t have kept up her end of the deal, she’s just as deluded as Sammy was. Now...I...I’m all alone.”

Curling into a fetal position, Hazel cried into her palms as she lost herself in comforting memories to cope with her aches. When she thought hard enough, she could picture it all. Her mother running her fingers through her hair, her father singing her to sleep even though his pitch was off. Nanna Mari would recount her glory days in Italy over tea with Nanna Sibby. Uncle Flynn, whistling away to the radio or skimming the daily paper. He had only tried to keep her safe and this was the thanks she gave him for giving her hospitality and allowing her into his home? Despicable. 

"You're alive...Thank God." Henry almost struggled to talk, but regardless sounded relieved. He watched Hazel from the corner of his eye, his lips coming to sport a frown. "Hey...C'mon. Don't cry. Please.  _ Please _ , Hazel, we can’t give up now.  _ You  _ can’t give up. Who will solve all the other unsolved mysteries that are out there, huh? I mean sure, someone else probably could but could they do it the way you do? Nah, I don’t think so. You’re one in a million when it comes to detectives I’d say.”

His words had succeeded in touching her heart. When a second had passed, Hazel showed her face. Although rosy from tears and irritation, she somehow retained her signature glow as she expressed delight. Wasting no effort, she got herself centered the best she could and instinctively threw her arms around Henry, hugging him without thinking.

“W-whoa, easy!” Henry stuttered momentarily, followed with a weak laugh and return of the gesture. “You really thought I’d died?”

Hazel nodded into his shirt, her shoulders jittering as she was holding back another round of emotion. “The decision I thought would be for the best put us in danger. My duty is to protect and help in any way that I can. Though nothing about what I decided helped either of us, I just keep fucking up time and time again and all we do is descend deeper and deeper into this nightmare. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you- to a friend. We were witness to the dying screams of a man, I won't allow you to suffer a similar fate. Not if I can help it."

"That's a pretty big promise to make.” said Henry, hand resting on her back. “You might not be able to fulfil it."

"I'm sure as hell going to try.” Hazel replied, voice lacing with growing determination. “Yes it’s true that I cannot guarantee your safety, but to me it is more important that I don’t stand by and do nothing when an attempt can be made. Even though my whole body feels like it’s turning against me, we have to push through this the best we can. Boris needs us, and we need each other.”

Getting stable would prove not to be as easy as originally thought. With every try, they found themselves back at square one. It was a miracle, to say the least, that none of their bones had broken. They had gotten away with minor injuries at best, but multiple gashes to her arm and leg were the price Hazel had paid from the fall.

_ My leg was starting to feel better too. Curses. _

“The cut will get infected if I don’t find some way to treat it. Please tell me I still have some of those wipes left...” Hazel muttered, poking through her bag until plastic packaging crinkled beneath her fingers. “Aha! They’re not antiseptic, though they’ll do the job.”

“You can use my sweater.” Henry offered, removing it from his body. “Tear some of the fabric off and you can wrap it around the cuts, like bandages. It was my dad’s, but he’d understand if he were here”

“W-what? Henry no, no I couldn’t possibly-” Hazel’s eyes widened, the sheer idea of taking something that meant so much to someone, it was awful. “This was your  _ father’s,  _ back in the safehouse you told me about him and the mining accident, how it was hard for you and your mother. I can’t ask this of you. I can’t take something that means so much to someone else.”

“You’re not asking. I’m the one giving this to you. It’s just an old sweater,” Henry smiled sadly, as if his actions gave him some sense of satisfaction as well as pain. “Made by my mom for someone who died years ago. He’d want you to do this.”

With no other way, Hazel brought the shirt closer to her side and cleaned her wounds. It hurt like hell, but she grit her teeth and soldiered on through the stinging. Ensuring no dirt or other impurities had found themselves lodged into the open flesh, she ripped enough fabric from the jumper and tied it around her leg and arm, sighing.

“If fate happens to be on our side, I’ll make sure to buy you a new one.” promised Hazel, checking the binding was tight enough. “It may not be much, but it’s the least I can do. Thank you, Henry.”

Henry grabbed onto a sturdy platform, shocked though thankful it hadn’t been damaged. Rising, he groaned and ignored the shaking in his knees (caused by pressure to the nerves).

_ Nice and easy, Henry. Slowly now. _

“I think I now know how it feels to have anchors chained to your ankles. Never thought I'd say that, but...argh, here we are.” Hazel struggled, she felt so numb but despite it all, she knew she had to keep on going. This goes against anything remotely logical, then again, everything about this place isn’t logical. I keep asking myself what was going through Mr Drew’s mind when he concocted all this. I still haven’t been able to figure it out.”   
  
“To word it in the most polite way possible...actually,” sighed Henry, he was stable. “I don’t think I even can. I’ve already lost hope of finding him alive. He’s probably been dead for years. God, poor Eloise.”

“Eloise?” Hazel raised a brow, appearing puzzled. “Who is that, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“An old friend of mine, we live in the same complex.” Henry explained, groaning when his back cracked. Damn did that feel good. “But she’s also Joey’s younger sister. Really kind woman. Could even say she’s the polar opposite of her brother. Since he hasn’t been around, I sorta took her under my wing, tried filling in the hole he left behind the best I could. Haven’t exactly been doing a good job of that recently, I won’t deny it. There have been so many times when she’s needed me and I haven’t been there for her. If I do get to see her again, I’m going to do better. Support her, through the good times and bad. I don’t show it enough, but I care about her very much. ”

_ He’s trying to be the brother she needs. How sweet. _

“I can see that. I’m sure she cares about you too, and is grateful for all you’ve done for her regardless. Hold on,” Hazel closed in on what appeared to be letters. “I see something. Just up ahead.”

A sign reading  **“Level S: Accounting and Finance”** presented directions to departments employees would have access to, now being ones the two misadventurers travelled to and from. An arrow pointing right led to the management office of Grant Cohen, while to the left were the Archives and access to R&D. Cobwebs partially covered the navigation space, leaving Henry and Hazel indifferent to them.

“I can only assume that this is where Mr Cohen would spend most of his time, crunching numbers and such.” said Hazel, fingers extending outward to touch the lettering. It was in immaculate condition. Almost  _ too  _ immaculate. “R&D has to be Research and Design, and the Archives are self explanatory. I must remember to mention a Grant in my findings, he could be of significance. Despite my current evidence pointing to Joey Drew being the main perpetrator, nearly everyone is a suspect. I doubt anyone was in the right frame of mind at this time, they must have been crazy to even think of staying here. It is a classic but unfortunate case of  _ folie à plusieurs.  _ French for the madness of many, I remember reading about it while I was investigating a murder in Paris twelve years ago. It is said that one person suffering from delusions is capable of getting others to believe in the same ideas, sometimes even hallucinations can be shared.  _ Folie imposée,  _ the dominant figure or if you will, the inducer, is the primary catalyst and the one who forms the ideas or beliefs and imposes it on others, the acceptors or associates. Bizarrely fascinating, is it not?”

Henry smiled nervously, feeling mildly uneasy about how much Hazel knew about the subject. It was as though she had learned from a psychologist rather than reading alone, the way her brain retained knowledge was immense. “Y-yeah. Very interesting stuff. So...which way? Left or right?”

Hazel thought about it, deciding quickly on her answer. “I believe it is about time I let you decide, Henry. You’ve proven to be quite the sleuth when you put your mind to it.”

Henry found himself to be unsure at first, he was getting to choose? A task so simple seemed daunting, but he was able to make his choice and motioned to the right.

“This way. If you look that way, the wheel to open the door is missing. The office is to the right, meaning it could be in there.”

Hazel turned her head left, seeing that indeed the way to the Archives was nowhere in view. “Then that’s the way we’ll go.” she then rubbed both her arms when a thought occurred to her. “I have the strangest feeling that we may find something neither of us expected.”

_ I hope it’s just the wheel...and not a dead body. _


End file.
